Flesh and Blood
by jakey121
Summary: 'It was a torture like no other. The horror of Panem. The price of the Hunger Games.' Welcome to the 55th Hunger Games!
1. Remember

**Chapter One.**

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><p><strong>Flesh and Blood;<br>The ****55th ****Hunger Games.**

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><p><strong>P<strong>**rologue, Part One.**

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><p>Rain.<p>

It meant something, surely, that the day of her burial the sun had decided to hide away. Amongst the graveyard, a sombre attitude hung with the bystanders, mixed with a melancholy everyone felt as her body descended into the dirt.

Her parents looked on with cold, sad, broken faces. _My baby, _her mother clung to her umbrella, shielding herself from the downpour, watching the box disappear forever. _I'll never see her again._

What made this day so much worse, what made her father especially delicate, was the building opposite the cemetery. A taunt. A tease. The Academy – so beautiful, so superior, so important, and it was because of them they would never see their daughter again.

Of course, it was their own fault, not the trainers. _They _had paid for tuition. _They _had made the idea of volunteering seem so special. So rewarding. So tempting that their beloved had to take it, otherwise, what was the point of going on when failure tainted their reputation?

It was their fault. And yet, blaming it on the foundation of their District, on the Capitol, on the District, on everyone but themselves made it so much... easier.

They could sleep at night with a scapegoat. Without, life would drift through their fingers: meaningless, unimportant, pointless. Nothing.

"Would you like to say something?" The man responsible for organizing the funeral looked at the parents with what the woman thought genuine sympathy, and the man thought fake through and through. Both shook their heads, neither had the strength to force words out into the air. Let them die on the tip of their tongues than be absorbed by the masses, sad on the outside, laughing on the inside.

A girl who died was a girl best forgotten. Shameful, even. Another speck of dust to be cast away because she had failed, and there were others who hadn't, living amongst them. Victory. That's what had motivated their daughter to push herself to her limits. To volunteer.

To die.

The fifty-fourth Hunger Games had claimed their daughter's life. For them, it would be remembered forever. For the rest of the District, tomorrow would be a new day, and her tomb would be a place left out of sight, out of mind, and disowned. That's why the Academy was so close. The cemetery was a reminder of what happened to those who didn't work hard enough and yet still clung to a hopeless ideal of glory.

Work hard, reap the rewards. Fail, die. Choose.

When the service was over and the crowd dispersed, they took each other hand in hand and bent down together, placing a flower, each of their choosing, on the mound of dirt by the tombstone.

Neither cried. Not because they wouldn't, but because, if they shed a tear, they knew they'd never stop. Here, placing the flower, it was time to make a decision. Live on with her memory and use it to continue. Or cry, rage, scorn, loathe and repeat, repeat, repeat.

"She shouldn't be here."

He looked at his wife, a desolate shell of the woman he'd married, but strong, so strong. She was hiding the worst parts of this hell. What she felt on the inside would break her apart piece by piece if she let it. It was the woman he married against the woman she was becoming.

"None of these people should be here," he gestured to the tombstones of countless teenagers, dead because of an ideal, a stupid, recurring ideal that murder meant life, "we remember, that's all we can do."

She nodded. It was all she could manage. Inside, a picture of their daughter, before the reaping, dressed up, a beauty beyond anything, blossomed into reality. If she held to that, she could forget this vision of their daughter, cold and dead in a coffin. That was not the image she wanted. The girl she had been, maybe even before corruption led to her early death, that was the vital idea she had to hold onto.

Silently, they both said a goodbye, and together they left the graveyard.

Opposite, imposing and eternal, the Academy stood powerful. Inside, two teenagers, one girl and one boy, would volunteer in a year's time for the honour their daughter and so many others had once held close.

They'd make the fatal error that this was an honour beyond compare and their families would have to cope knowing they could have made a difference.

It was a torture like no other.

The horror of Panem.

The price of the Hunger Games.

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><p><strong>Tribute form on my profile, alongside deadline and other information.<strong>

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><p><strong>Anyway, hello to those that know me, and those that don't. Welcome to <em>Flesh and Blood<em>! This is a SYOT, feel free to submit a tribute, in fact, I encourage you too. I have another story halfway, maybe more than halfway, through the Games. So, because it's nearing its end, I thought I'd put this one up, because by the time submissions are closed I'll probably be even closer to the end of my other one.**

**Basically, this is the first prologue to introduce the story, the second will be a way of putting up the tribute list and showcasing the blog that accompanies the story, and then we begin getting to know our wonderful tributes. This SYOT is set in the same world as my stories _Madhouse _and _Beyond the Veil. _It's canon so expect some familiar faces, although I might have changed a thing or two to fit in with what I've done previously. And as always my format changes between each story, so don't expect consistency.  
><strong>

**Yeah long introduction, that happens with the first chapter of a new story. But yeah, tribute form on my profile, I'll keep a number of how many boys/girls have been submitted and we'll go from there. Only one tribute may be accepted per person (unless sadly, I haven't received enough, although I may just extend the deadline), and then a PM will be sent out letting you know if you've been accepted or not. I can't please everyone, so I hope you understand I may have to say no, but we'll see what happens.**

**I'm excited, I hope you're excited. Let's do this!**


	2. No Place

**Chapter Two.**

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><p><strong>Prologue, Part Two.<strong>

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><p>In Twelve, bitterness clogged the air.<p>

Brother and sister looked down at the gravestone, a mere pebble with untidy scrawlings chiselled into the rock. People ambled around them, visiting lost ones with the worst kind of human emotion across their faces.

Twelve had the living corpses amongst their society, and those allowed eternal rest: the dead corpses. But this – _his _fate, no, no it wasn't right. She laid a hand on his shoulder, sensing his rising temper, placating it with a single touch.

"Don't, it's not worth it. Not after everything."

The funeral yesterday had been the most depressing affair he'd ever been too, and he lived in Twelve, where depression roamed the air and scorched the minds. He scoffed, loudly, uncaring to who could hear it. He was angry. Livid. The Capitol had taken his younger brother when it could have been him – should have been him.

But at nineteen, all he could do was watch, wait and wonder how it would happen. Because it wasn't a case of it not happening, it was a case of when. His brother died early on, a small comfort to what some of the other tributes faced later on, but he'd still died.

The Careers were the reason. His anger wasn't just directed at the central cause of the Games themselves, but at those who supported them, offering up their young like ritualistic sacrifices. He hated them, he wanted them dead, and the only small comfort came from the fact that this year they did all die.

A girl from Five had won. It hadn't been his brother, but it hadn't been one of those Careers. It meant something, at least. It meant karma still existed, as evil as it could be on other days.

"They'll want to know where we are."

"Let them," he spoke quietly, yet the tone offered up his clear view on how he felt towards his parents. They didn't even show up to the funeral. Didn't say goodbye. Didn't hold the two of them like parents should do as they laid to rest _their _brother.

They lost a son and acted like the world had simply continued on, like the Capitol and the rest of the Districts would. But not them. They should have shown something.

"People react differently when they lose someone they love."

"_People?_" He laughed, the same bitterness thick and familiar in his throat. "People mourn when someone they care about dies. They don't... move on... not that quickly. They didn't even come."

His knees gave way then, and down he fell, to the small heap of dirt with one dead flower to mark their brother's grave.

"They deserved it."

"Who?"

He pictured them all: regal, vicious, dignified... horrible. Then, lastly, the girl from Two. His murderer. At least she was dead. He hoped she was in the worst kind of place wherever they went after death. Burning for eternity for what she did.

"Everyone. They took our... brother." He realised he was crying. He hardly cried, not because he cared what people thought, but because crying lost its impact when everything they lived with warranted such a response.

Crying over breakfast, crying over dinner, crying at bedtime. A cycle, over and over, absorbed with despair.

His lungs hurt, the tears poured from his eyes, and he sobbed into the grave, clinging to the stone as if it were his brother... his poor, baby brother.

"You know the worst part?" He interrupted his sister as she opened her mouth to say something, anything to appease him. She knew him better than anyone. Twins after all, twins who both mourned the loss of their sweet little brother. She knew he'd never let this down, that after everything they'd been through, this one tragic circumstance would fracture the boy she envied for his strength.

She couldn't let that happen. But what could she do but let it?

"Next year... next year it happens again. It goes on and on and on. More of _them _will volunteer and more of us will die because of it. I hate it." He threw the dead rose far away, over his shoulder, casting it off. His brother deserved more than a stupid flower.

"I want him back." He choked on his words as he turned to stand up, whimpering at his sister. They embraced. He cried into her shoulder and she whispered everything she could in his ear – everything that might work, but she knew wouldn't.

"They do care. They do. We have to be strong for them, for ourselves. We've all lost someone, we can't lose anyone else."

He said nothing at that. But she knew, later on, when they all sat down and tried to act like the normal family when everything was the complete opposite of normal, that he'd make promises he would break tomorrow.

_I'll try. I'll work hard. I'll do this, I'll do that. I won't have let him die in vain. This family will survive._

All those promises would die quickly, the second he said them. Because in Twelve, promises really meant nothing, they were as futile as the tributes that were reaped and offered up to the Capitol.

She held him tight, letting a single tear slip down her nose and land on his shoulder. She mourned the loss of one brother, and today, she mourned the loss of the one she cradled in her arms.

Twelve would go on, lost in their ways, dragging their lifeless bodies around because they were too afraid to just drop down and die.

She wanted something better, he wanted something better. Anything that didn't mean another family next year, another two families from Twelve, and another however many from around Panem would have to go through what they were going through right now.

But nothing would change.

It never did.

"We have to go," she said, taking his hand, turning away from the grave.

He was dead. They were alive.

She wanted him to come back. And she wanted to go down there, buried, lost... gone.

Which fate was the better one? Dead or alive. It didn't matter.

They had no place in this world.

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><p><strong>Before the list, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who submitted. I didn't expect to receive the amount of tributes that I ended up with. But given the fact I received nearly 70, cutting down to 24 was really difficult. I've had to reject a lot of tributes I did really like, and I am really sorry to everyone that didn't get in. The main reason is literally just the amount I had, there was no way of taking in every tribute I wanted to. But, think of it in a good way, if there's another SYOT around or one that comes up, you have a form already written up ;P<strong>

**Congrats though to everyone that did get in. Just to make sure everyone is aware I'll be sending out PMs to those that did get in, but won't be to those that didn't, just because of the amount and because the only reason they weren't accepted is really just because I had to cut out nearly 50 submissions. But I am pleased with those that I've selected, so yeah, below is the tribute list and once more, thanks for submitting!**

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><p><span><strong>Tribute List<strong>

**District One:**

Male- Vance Seymour _(TitanMaddix)_

Female- Saira Carinne _(Cashmere67)_

**District Two:**

Male- Henry Eris _(Hoprocker)_

Female- Rayah Ausbern _(Acereader55)_

**District Three:**

Male- Lucian St. Laurent _(FoalyWinsForever)_

Female- Arial Bold _(felicitea)_

**District Four:**

Male- Tristian Fortier _(Sovereign2)_

Female- Rhaella Cresswell _(Remus98)_

**District Five:**

Male- Chip Flexan _(President Snowflake)_

Female- Adley Proctor _(District11-Olive)_

**District Six:**

Male- Blaine Carrigan _(bobothebear)_

Female- Holly Branwell _(nevergone4ever)_

**District Seven:**

Male- Ramon Decker _(Munamana)_

Female- Sherina Harney _(DA Member Hogwarts)_

**District Eight:**

Male- Tymas Romain _(Chaos In Her Wake)_

Female- Eliasi Vallis _(addicted-to-my-reflection)_

**District Nine:**

Male- Casimar Kaveli _(LokiThisIsMadness)_

Female- Noelani Lenoire _(Sunlight Comes Creeping In)_

**District Ten:**

Male- Lazaro Aden _(Aspect of One)_

Female- Clarette Aamira _(mikitty bast)_

**District Eleven:**

Male- Jasper Ness _(Atashi Desu)_

Female- Therese Chaney _(SomeDays)_

**District Twelve:**

Male- Chase Whittaker _(Burning Stars)_

Female- Lexine Videl _(The Knife Throwing Expert)_

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><p><strong>The blog is up on my profile. If the link hasn't appeared just yet, go onto my blogger profile by accessing one of my other blogs and a link should be there. Also new Victors have been added to my Victors blog, so check those out as well!<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Favourites from the blog and why?<strong>_

_**Least favourites from the blog and why?**_

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><p><strong>Anyway, there you have it, the tributes for Flesh and Blood!<strong>

**I'm sorry I cut the deadline by a week, but after the amount I got within two, risking going on to around 90-100 tributes would have been insane, so I wanted to get it up now.**

**Up next we'll start with the reapings. I haven't fully worked out what my chapter format will be, but I do know I want to try to update weekly, so expect something out next weekend. Just because I know people are busy around Christmas, that'll probably be the only update until after the ****25th, then I'll get back to schedule.**

**Again, sorry to those that didn't get in, it was tough, but I somehow managed to do it!**

**See you with the next chapter.**


	3. Live and Learn

**Chapter Three.**

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings, Part One.<strong>

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><p><strong>Henry Eris, 16 years old;<br>District Two Male.**

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><p>It was early morning, earlier than trainees were permitted into the Academy.<p>

Henry tagged alongside his younger friend – and perhaps his only friend – Nova, as she slipped through an open window, before unlocking the back door for him.

Why they were really doing this, neither knew. Neither cared. Henry swaggered in with a smile on his face, eyes crinkled in that way everyone had come to know him, and wandered into the central training room where the real fun took place.

Fun for some. Not fun for Henry. Whilst he enjoyed Nova's backbone and the idea of what these weapons themselves could do and what he possessed within him, the entire process of actually learning how to do these things was, quite frankly, boring. Really, really, boring.

"So, we're here for...?" Nova's eyes were blue-rimmed and tired, but full of life as always. Henry ruffled her hair playfully and pointed to the racks of weapons, displayed as always, 24/7, for the eager trainees awaiting another day of pummelling each other to a pulp.

"Today's the big day."

"Yes it's the reaping, your point being?" She arched an eyebrow at the older boy. It was quite funny to the majority, and to Henry, that at just twelve she nearly reached his height. Being his size, it lost him a little respect in regards to first impressions, but he more than made up for it with what came next.

What he could do, oh, that was the best. He laughed and gestured towards the swords, forcing Nova to plod along behind him.

"I think a little bit of extra practice is important. Early bird catches the worm, y'know."

"Please don't," she yawned and rubbed her eyes. Henry giggled and motioned towards a few inanimate dummies already stocked up on a railing, tethered and swaying to and fro. He looked at them, then at his hands, then at the sword.

_Soon, _he thought, imagining the moment later that day, when he'd be on the stage. Then in the Arena, then... s_oon. _He giggled and clapped his hands together, pinching Nova's cheek like an elder brother would to a younger sibling. Nova batted it away but couldn't quite hide the smirk that curled into her cheeks – a smirk that only fuelled the fire to Henry's enthusiasm.

If she couldn't curb the monster, let him roar. Henry was all in favour of being free to do whatever he pleased. Within reason though. After all, he wouldn't be stupid about this. A good brain in his skull would do him just as well in the Arena as his skill with a weapon.

But, still, he couldn't wait. Why did they have to be covered in glitter, train for a few days and then asked questions_? _Why not throw them in the Arena tomorrow and be done with it. It'd be a lot faster. Henry sighed, shaking his head. He'd waited sixteen years. He could wait another week.

"Want to duel?"

"With you?" Nova barked out loud, her voice echoing down to the other end of the deserted room. "I have more chance of winning the Hunger Games than I do beating you."

Henry glowed at the comment. "You know how to make a boy blush."

"Please." Nova rolled her eyes but moved towards the swords anyway, staring at them, then at the dummies and shrugging. Henry admired her companionship, above all else, she'd stuck by him and that meant something to him.

It was the only part he felt sorry for, leaving for the Games. He didn't want her to be alone. They were good for each other in this sad, sad, boring world. But he'd be back. It shouldn't take too long to paint the Arena red and give her all the money such a sweet girl deserved.

Sweet being the complete wrong term to use of course, but the general idea of sweet sickened Henry. She was sweet in his books.

"I guess I'll humour you. Draw a sword."

Henry chuckled. "Have you got a pen and paper?"

It wasn't funny. Henry grinned regardless of that; Nova's exasperated look only driving him on further. To him, let whatever he said be said, let them hear it, accept it, and live with it. He could do what he liked, it was his own body, his own mind, his own mouth.

His own ability.

His own... sword.

The desire raged beneath his skin, and he gripped onto the weapon with determination, clattering away at Nova's pitiful attempt to knock the boy down. He disarmed her four times in the space of thirty seconds. A new record for him, but then again, beating a twelve year old meant little to what was coming.

There'd be twelve year olds, or something close, of course. But it was that Rayah girl who'd be joining him, and all the others that would truly put his skills to the test. He'd be the perfect little Career of course, unless they annoyed him, which he predicted they might.

But given time, it would all fall into place and the fun would begin within the Pack, not just without.

"Round Five?" Nova nodded her head grimly, losing her sword within seconds.

Henry pictured the sword in his hand, Nova being another tribute, and the idea of disarming being exactly that – Dis. Arming. Cutting someone's arm off might be fun.

He couldn't wait.

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><p><strong>Blaine Carrigan, 16 years old;<br>District Six Male.**

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><p>Anya Carrigan waved a piece of paper in her mother's eyes, proudly bouncing up and down in her chair round the breakfast table. Every few seconds, before their mother turned from the pan sizzling atop the cooker, her gaze would fall on Blaine and a sneer would play on her lips.<p>

It was these moments, familiar, family moments, that Blaine wished it were legal to throttle someone. Or at least slap them silly.

Finally, after some internal pleading for the nauseating whining to quell, their mother looked up from her cooking and smiled at her only daughter. Blaine grumbled when her face practically lit up at whatever was on the sheet – he knew, knowing her, knowing this family, knowing how _unfair _everything was – that it couldn't be bad news.

In fact, of course, it was great.

"They want you to... to move up a class?" She practically threw the paper at her husband's face, a man stuck in his breakfast bowl, shovelling it down without respect for who could see or hear him. That's the way the Carrigan family operated. A hierarchical structure, where the highest could do as they pleased.

Blaine slowly sunk into the cushion of his chair. _I am not the lowest, I am not. _In all honesty, he was. They could see it. He could probably feel it. But he wasn't. He was the best, the brightest, the top-dog.

People were just blind to the true success he was shaping up to be. Or already was.

"That's wonderful Anya, finally we have a genius in the family."

Blaine knew it was a personal dig, even without anyone taking note of him in the conversation. He glared daggers at his younger sister. If a hole could open up for anyone to fall into, be it Anya, not him.

Sure she was a clever girl, there was no denying that, the grades she got and the personal recommendations from her teachers to push herself even more, proved that to anyone. But, was she really... that good? That great?

No, she wasn't. Blaine was. He was the eldest, he was the heir to whatever the Carrigan family actually had, the man of the household when his father was away. He deserved their praise by right.

It's not like he never actually did things to be proud of. It's just his younger brother and sister seemed to always top it. No matter how hard he tried to succeed.

"Are you sure you'll be alright with the older kids? It can be daunting at twelve years old to face all of that pressure."

Blaine's father snorted into his cereal, shaking his head. "Darling, if they can face certain death at twelve, they can face slightly older, but less intellectually gifted children."

_Certain death. _Blaine shivered at that. Not because he was scared – or at least, not totally scared – but because, standing in that Square today, if it was him who was picked, it'd be an awfully large task to make himself stand out compared to all those nasty thugs that lumbered about thinking they were all that.

He smirked. _Nah, _he thought, _I'd easily hold my own. _It was one of those mornings where he wished he was with his best friends rather than his family.

Anya got the perfect grades and the highest compliments, but with his best friends, it was all about him. What he had done. Who he was beating. Blaine, Blaine, _Blaine. _And why not let it be about him?

If his own family couldn't appreciate what he provided their household name with, the reputation his presence bolstered significantly, then so be it. His friends would more than make up for it, because they actually appreciated him.

Six was an awful place to live, everyone thinking they were better than everyone else. Anya, at her age, should learn her place.

If only it weren't his family. Maybe he'd actually say something.

"Where's Ellis, he's missing family time."

"He's out with his friends."

_Oh, so he can go out, but I can't? _Blaine's own self-importance wiped clean, once again a familiar anger curdling his insides. He slurped at the milk in his bowl, only to be snapped at by his father to eat properly.

Of course, he hadn't just been swallowing his food and forcing it down like a pig. No, of course not. Blaine looked at his father and smiled apologetically, then swiftly gazed at his mother, hoping maybe she had some form of attention to give that wasn't a subtle display of disappointment – the same system this family worked on during precious _family time._

"I think it's about time we wrapped up breakfast. I'll prepare a wonderful post-Reaping celebration for Anya's big achievement."

When the two of them weren't looking, Anya grinned at her elder brother, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Blaine's cheeks were burning hot. He felt ridiculed, even when no one had actually really done anything to him.

"Mother, guess what?"

She mumbled something, but Blaine took it in his stride, continuing. "Final exams are coming up and Mr Rynson thinks I'm going to come top of the class."

"That's great dear. Let's wait and see if that actually happens, though, before celebrating." She offered a sweet smile over the shoulder, and that was it, conversation over.

Blaine slumped back, breakfast defeating him completely.

"I'm sure Blaine will do us proud." Anya leant forward, grinning, her voice barely above a whisper where only he could hear it. "After all, it's about time he tried."

He really hated his family.

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><p><strong>Eliasi Vallis, 16 years old;<br>District Eight Female.**

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><p>"D'ya think they'd mind?"<p>

Eliasi's brother, Dashiel, looked at her with one eyebrow raised, before bursting out into laughter. "Considering you're planning on locking them in, I'm pretty sure they'll mind a heck of a lot."

Eliasi, being Eliasi of course, didn't mind one bit. She laughed herself and launched over the wall, vaulting above the brick and landing perfectly on the concrete path leading up to the front door.

School was a horrible place to be regardless of the time of year, but on reaping day, Eliasi hated it even more. Not because she actually had to be there, but because her brothers Rohan and Atticus liked to hang around causing as much mischief as possible, mischief she both envied, and hated because it often got them into trouble.

Trouble happened to be her middle name, the Vallis family practically carried trouble with them on their shoulders, but as usual the competitive nature kicked in and she didn't want to be outstaged by them.

So, she had the perfect little prank to play.

"Maybe you should think this through a bit more." Eliasi rolled her eyes. Dashiel could be such a drag, but she loved him for it. The voice of reason she never asked for. He constantly tagged along though, because where else would he go? Closest to her in age, they'd come to depend on one another quite a bit – two sides of the same coin.

"If they love school so much that they want to spend their time here on the one day we're allowed off, let's give them privacy with the building."

Eliasi cackled, she loved this part. And the reactions were always priceless. Once up the concrete steps and into the main corridor of their school, she skipped along the deserted tiles and round the corner, towards a pair of voices that weren't doing anything to hide their destination.

It's like they wanted to get caught.

Maybe they did.

"You don't think the Peacekeepers will get annoyed?"

Eliasi sighed, visualizing those white-uniformed bastards. Of course they would. That was part of the fun. Do first, think later. She didn't want to necessarily irritate the people that could very well do bad things to them, but with so much to do on reaping day, she doubted they'd care that much about two kids who probably – no, definitely – wouldn't be reaped.

It's not like she would be either.

"Look Dash', live a little. You're in a right mood today."

"I'm not in a mood. I'm happy, alright." He crossed his arms, looking like a grumpy little toddler. She loved him for that – amongst other things.

"Then tell your face how you're feeling. I don't think it knows."

Before he could nag her any longer, she finally reached the door to the classroom where her brothers were wreaking havoc. Through the crack in the door, barely open, she could see them throwing tables and messing with the chalkboard.

"Perfect. Got the key?"

Begrudgingly, Dashiel passed it over. "And how did you convince her to give it to you."

"With my amazing persuasion skills."

"Meaning you stole it?"

She didn't need to nod, they both knew the answer. It had been rather easy anyway, why waste money on different locks when you could save the hassle and have one key for them all? Eliasi loved the fact the school was ran by teachers that couldn't give a toss what happened as long as they behaved themselves.

Clearly, that was backfiring on them. Lack of behaviour seemed to be the very motivation Eliasi needed to shove the key in the door and lock it. If they weren't trashing the place, they might have heard themselves being shut in, but they didn't, and with a rather stern gaze from her brother, they fled the scene of the crime.

"They'll miss the reaping."

"I only want to scare them a bit," Eliasi laughed again. It was fun, on days that were created to drain the mood from everything, to instil a liveliness to the situation. Besides, her brothers had done stuff to her, priding themselves on the most awkward situations becoming even more awkward.

Payback worked well in the Vallis family, they practically functioned on it, a repeated cycle.

"You know people can get in a heap of trouble for missing a reaping? Look at what happened last year."

Eliasi tried not to. It hadn't been nice – but then, the entire District had been on edge after that one kid fought back, his entire family reacting the same. A few people missing the ceremony had only ruffled up already agitated Peacekeepers.

"Fine," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Give them an hour in there and we'll unlock it. We've still got that Peacekeeper uniform from last time, I'll put it on and unlock the door, they'll be terrified."

"You're forgetting you're smaller than the uniform."

"It's not my fault the Peacekeepers can't watch what they eat." Without having another word to put in, Dashiel became quiet, and Eliasi only smiled wider.

Today was a shit day, it was only going to get shittier soon enough. Living day by day with a little enthusiasm did no one any harm. Eliasi nudged a sombre Dashiel. He started to smile, then started to laugh, and Eliasi couldn't help herself from joining in all the way back to their untidy, cramped house, near to the school, but far enough for Eliasi to sleep at night.

"They're gonna hate you for this."

Eliasi clapped her hands together, grinning. "Let them. That's when the fun begins."

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><p><strong>Noelani Lenoire, 17 years old;<br>District Nine Female.**

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><p>Above Nine, dark, grey clouds were rolling in from across the woodland, perching above the District and pouring on the denizens below.<p>

Noelani looked through the window with her chin rested on her knuckles, letting out a quick sigh, before turning back to face the front. Her entire mood changed and a small, gracious smile took over from the melancholy that swarmed her stomach.

It could have been worse, she told herself over and over. Out there, tucked away in the slums of the District, countless would become ill through the cold and bitterness such weather inflicted on those less fortunate.

Noelani felt immense grief, almost guilt, knowing that she couldn't do anything for them. What made it worse was she could see it on the journey home, the poverty, but she tucked that all up inside and locked it away. Her education was important to her, immensely important, and today, despite it being reaping day, her favourite teacher was tutoring her and some of her fellow classmates.

The more eager to get a good head start in life were amongst her, the rest shunning school for a day off. It didn't bother Noelani in the slightest. Her choices were her choices, their choices were theirs. Everyone owned their own life – it was up to them how they lived it, she wouldn't judge.

"The questions are now on the board for you all, so please, before we have to pack up for the reaping try to get through as many as you can and tomorrow I'll personally spend some time going through them with you." The lady at the front, a wise but ageing teacher, nodded her head with a calm smile on her face and sat behind her desk, glasses on and eyes focused entirely on yet another novel.

Noelani grinned. She admired the woman for showing such composure despite the burden old age brought to people. It was an inspiration, almost, to keep on going no matter what. And that lesson was incredibly important for her, because the rain matched how she really felt, even if on the outside she refused to let it be shown.

"I'm glad I decided to take up extra time and come here." Noelani looked up at the voice. It belonged to Monica, a small but able-minded girl. She smiled at Noelani and looked down at the paper, void of any writing.

Noelani blushed, clearly she was letting the atmosphere of the reaping get to her head, something she hated. Monica didn't seem to mind and instead joined her, pulling up a chair at her table and leaning forwards. Noelani appreciated the gesture, but also, guiltily wished to be left alone.

She had enough on her mind as it was without having to humour an eager Monica. Still, she couldn't and wouldn't voice such opinions. It was nice to have company, anyway. At home she certainly didn't have it anymore – people were there, but they weren't at the same time.

It wasn't a happy situation for her to be in.

"Me too. I like the rain as much as the next person who knows how helpful it is for the fields, but to be in it on a day off... yeah," she chuckled, "I'd rather be learning something."

"You're one of those brainiacs aren't you, the know-it-alls?" Monica nudged Noelani playfully, to which she returned it with a small push in the other direction.

She wasn't necessarily close to many people in this room, or in fact out there, but she had her connections made through the fact Noelani refused to let how she felt get in the way of how she should react. People deserved her attention – no matter what the circumstances or feelings she had herself. It wasn't fair for her to push them away.

"You could say that. I'm sure you are too. I bet you'll ace this test."

"Eh, maybe, maybe not. Honestly, I'm only here 'cause I heard Trey was." Noelani stopped herself from rolling her eyes. _Of course, there's always a boy involved. _Monica looked away and almost hit the table when she tried to balance her chin on her hand, staring at the back of the boy in question.

At that moment, when she turned the same kind of red as Trey's hair, Noelani heard something from outside the window. It wasn't too far off, but at this side of the school, there were no doors except for the one their teacher preferred to keep locked.

A little boy, or at least small in comparison to the rest of this class, gawped up at Noelani with pleading eyes. He had no jacket on, no protection from the weather, and immediately Noelani stood up and caught the attention of their teacher.

When she pointed out the boy and a few others snickered, Noelani stared them all down and motioned to the poor little thing getting drenched outside. She could at least do something – something to help him.

"He best be quick, I don't want to let the heat out." She unlocked the door and immediately the boy ran in, blue and shivering.

"You're too good sometimes," Monica looked at Noelani and smiled. She returned it. Although Noelani didn't feel any pride at what she had done, it had distracted her enough from today.

"So how's everything at home...?" Monica trailed off into a conversation which Noelani turned back on its head, directing a question on Monica's life rather than her own.

It couldn't be about her – even if sometimes, the repetitiveness irritated her.

Besides, some people cared a lot more about what they had to say than what they could listen to. And that didn't bother Noelani. She liked listening.

Even when she didn't like what they had to say.

* * *

><p><strong>And here are the first four tributes!<strong>

**The pre-Capitol format is the same as my previous story's. There'll be another pre-reaping chapter and then two reaping chapters, then two goodbyes. Then onto the Capitol!**

**Thanks for all those reading, for all your reviews so far, keep it up and let me know what you thought of these first four – whether you like or dislike them, it's fun and helpful to hear what you think!**


	4. Identity

**Chapter Four.**

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><p><strong>Pre-Reapings, Part Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Vance Seymour, 18 years old;<br>District One Male.**

* * *

><p>The Seymour family were gathered round the dining table – sparse, but regal.<p>

Appearances within this household were exceptionally important, more important than the familial bond between each member.

Vance looked at his father, proud at the head of the table, staring at each of his children in turn before offering a curt nod to his wife.

"We wanted to take the time to talk to you about... today. The reaping."

Vance repressed a smile. Not because he was exactly enthusiastic about what he was planning, but because it_ was _actually happening. For once in his life, his father had absolutely no clue what his own son had planned.

It gave him a sense of power he rarely felt within these four walls.

"Vance. Cleo. Tate. We've raised you to be fine young men and women and we couldn't be more proud. That's why, with all this propaganda going around, forcing people your age to take up such a barbaric lifestyle for nothing more than a death match, causes us to worry."

For show, she took hold of her husband's hand, but Vance saw nothing there, no love, just a stark coldness at the way his father appeared to be hooked to every word. Not because he was interested. But because if she messed up, she'd hear no end to it.

Vance had learned as a young boy to hold his tongue when he had to, and use his words properly when the situation demanded it of him. The Seymour family truly had created copies of the man, sitting so smug at the end of the table, but the problem was, the copies weren't as perfect as he'd have liked.

"Cleo, we were worried about your absence last weekend. The Academy were hosting an event, something we heard through work, were you there?"

His younger sister was the most like their father. She wrinkled her nose and for once, their father smiled. _Daddy's little girl, _Vance thought bitterly, before rejecting that idea. He still loved her. Loved him. They were family after all – family stuck together. Except for today. Except when he was about to break the one rule above all other rules. The Hunger Games meant nothing to this family.

Why risk so much when they already had it all? Vance knew the answer. It was a freedom this family had taken from the children. Cleo didn't feel it. But all Vance had to do was look at his younger brother, the look in his eyes, and know that the Seymour boys were suffering.

"I was picking out a dress for the reaping. I still had some money left over, so Mabel took us out shopping. I'm sorry I didn't let you know." Cleo's voice was sickly sweet – fake, but neither his mother nor father saw it that way.

Tate gave the answer their father wanted to hear. Which meant it was Vance's turn. At eighteen years old, he was the main worry. The heir to the Seymour name, and with just two words, it could all fall apart. _I volunteer. _Two words in his very near future.

"Your friend Jayden is volunteering today, right? You two spend so much time together, we often worry he hasn't... changed your mind on the Games. After all, we have seen you come back looking a bit... tired."

Cleo held back a giggle and saw her hand rise to her lips. Tate looked up at his brother with sad eyes. He knew, of course he knew. They'd never told each other anything in particular, but they had a connection no one in this family could hope to understand, or match for that matter.

"You've told us time and time again that family is very important. I'm not letting myself be persuaded by Jayden-" Vance paused for a second, faltering on the inside, but on the outside he came across as convincing as ever. It didn't make him proud to lie to people he loved, lying was difficult, but with an upbringing like his, the way his entire childhood had been formulated, lies had come naturally more often than not.

"The whole idea of volunteering is wrong, especially when you've both given us so much." His mother and father smiled at that, pleased. Especially his father. Feed the head of the household as much compliments as his stomach can take, and soon enough, you'll get him on your side.

Vance knew how people worked. His sister was the main worry for him – a girl who could sniff out lies just as well as he could, so if she knew, she said nothing. His mother's smile looked a lot more forced. Everyone in the Seymour family fell under the iron thumb of this man, sat opposite Vance.

Everything they did was monitored by him, assessed, and then probably rejected. _Except this, _Vance thought. This was his one escape.

His only secret.

"Jayden is still volunteering. He wouldn't give up his spot for nobody – not that I even want it. I'm tired because I'm working as hard as I can campaigning for your next attempt at making it up another step, father. You know people here, they like a man of action, so I have to be out there fighting for you."

His father smiled. "Thank you son. It's good to know I have your support."

_Because if I didn't, you'd throw me out. _Vance smiled courteously back, bowing his head and resuming a heavy silence that now thickened between them all.

Soon, his father broke away, dismissing the family when everything had been sorted. Vance took it upon himself to let his mother and sister leave – ladies first, after all – and then escorted his brother out the room.

"I know," Tate whispered, as they left the house, down the front path and onto the main road.

Vance smiled and ruffled his younger brother's hair. "I know you do."

"Good luck, Vance."

_Good luck indeed._

* * *

><p><strong>Arial Bold, 15 years old;<br>District Three Female.**

* * *

><p>For maybe the first time since the last reaping, the entire Bold family happened to be in their own house at the same time.<p>

Arial woke up feeling invigorated, refusing to let the reaping bog her down as she slipped into a pair of slippers, dressed in her favourite dressing gown, and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. There her parents were already setting up breakfast, and with a peck on her mother's cheek, she sat down and bid her siblings and father a wonderful good morning.

And, with the exception of her younger brother, they simply mumbled something back and carried on reading in silence.

_Ah, _she mused, looking at them all with a smile, _I'm a Bold. Of course no one's actually doing anything. _Arial shook off their lack of energy because she knew she had enough of her own to infuse into their morning routine.

Most, if not all, of her family seemed very much sombre – brooding more than she'd come to expect. Reaping fever. The illness of the depressed. Arial could feel fear gnawing in her stomach, but that was just a by product of living in Panem, for the most part she shoved it back and refused to even acknowledge it existed.

Instead she thanked her mother when breakfast was placed in front of her, sipped at a glass of orange juice, and clapped her hands together. "So. Apart from maybe dying, what's everyone got planned for today?"

It was meant to be a joke, but Arial mentally slapped herself for once again, forgetting where she was. Maybe it was the fact she'd only just woken up and her brain was currently working three steps behind her mouth. Death was, well, death. Something terrifying. You couldn't put a happy spin on it even for a joke, not in her household.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," her older sister frowned at her as she nibbled at a piece of toast, placing it back down.

Arial took a great big bite. "Sorry," bits of bread flew from her mouth, "what was that?" Verdana wrinkled her nose with disgust but held her tongue. Arial silently wished she'd say something back, just to maybe kick-start her brain into action. Coming up with something to only further wind her sister up gave her mind the right motivation to energise herself – get the cogs turning, think on the spot.

With the family falling back to a hushed whisper here and there, Arial leant back and began eating her breakfast. Family time never gave itself much entertainment, so typically she'd provide it herself, but today for maybe the first breakfast in a long time, she held her tongue and let her legs swing back and forth, putting all the unused enthusiasm into that.

_Forward, back, forward bac- _"Ow, mum she kicked me-" _Forward, back._

"Apologise to your brother."

Arial stopped moving her legs and stuck out her bottom lip, "I sincerely hope I have not injured my poor brother."

"That's better."

"No it's not!" Her brother looked angry but again, the conversation cut short and breakfast continued at the same monotonous pace Arial struggled to endure.

If she couldn't talk, she listened, she observed. Verdana looked more uptight than usual, but with her brow furrowed, something was definitely up. _Maybe her boyfriend realised he was dating an elephant. _Arial repressed a snort, Verdana was still her sister, she wouldn't vocalize a mere joke she had to say – she teased them, but she was never outright mean.

They _were _family after all. Sombre, boring, as far in the box as they could be, but they stuck together. Arial was just an oddity. Well, in her mind, odd was good. Better than boring. No one likes boring.

_Unfortunately, District Three does. Boring this, boring that. _She sighed and kicked her legs out again, this time ignoring the shriek from her brother and the resulting disappointed sigh both her parents emitted in unison.

Arial held onto the fact she could go out soon. Once breakfast was clear, everything had been sorted, her parents would let her leave – something she couldn't wait for any longer.

The Bold family, except for Verdana and sadly Arial, went off to do something else in the house. Sister and sister had the duty of cleaning up the table and making sure everything was spick and span for tomorrow. Lest she leave a spot of dirt anywhere, she'd incur the wrath of a frightening middle-aged bore. Oh the horror.

"Arial could you please help me wash the dishes?" Her older sister looked down at her, then gestured towards the pile-up in the sink. Arial, of course, had second ideas.

"Oh I wish I could, but I don't want to."

Verdana groaned and rolled her eyes, turning back and scrubbing the plates clean herself. Unlike Arial, she wouldn't persist at a lost cause. Whereas Arial was already picturing where she'd go once she was allowed out and the work had been done.

The friends she had to see. The little problem with one of those girls she'd accidentally somehow annoyed – well, she could patch that right back up if she decided she actually wanted to. Before the reaping she had a whole host of ideas about where to go and she was excited.

Mainly just to get out of this house. Breakfast had come and gone and already she felt like the life had been sucked up and destroyed.

"You can go if you're not going to be any help."

Verdana wasn't even facing Arial, but she could see the pink of her ears. "Aw thanks sis', you're the best." She wrapped her arms round Verdana's waist for a second and bolted out the door, knocking over her brother, and laughing with his shouting ringing in her ears.

Oh, she enjoyed it here, of course she did. It was so much fun – like a game she'd invented.

But out there, as she looked at the open expanse of Three before her, there was so much more to do.

It wasn't the most exciting life, but it was her life. She enjoyed standing out. It made her her – she didn't want to be anyone else.

Being Arial Bold was too much fun.

* * *

><p><strong>Jasper Ness, 13 years old;<br>District Eleven Male.**

* * *

><p>On Reaping day, Eleven never let itself smile.<p>

Work hard in the morning, work even harder once it was all over and two kids had been sent off to die. It was the cycle that corrupted Eleven, a cycle the Capitol very much poured their strength into maintaining.

For Jasper and his friends, however, this was not the case. Somewhere behind the school yard, a basic playground had been built that led up to the brick back wall of the building they loathed. Jasper had his hands wrapped tight round a high bar, letting his legs fall as he pulled himself along, grinning like a fool at his friends below.

"Whoever said a kid with a broken wrist can't make it work?" His arm currently had a cast all the way up to the elbow, making it almost impossible for him to bend it. But Jasper wasn't the type of kid to give up, sitting still wasn't a concept the kid understood nor wished to ever try. He didn't regret what led up to breaking his wrist, just the breaking part.

It hurt like a bitch.

Locke, maybe his closest friend, cheered him on alongside his cousin Loop. But today, it wasn't those two he cared about. In fact, they pretty much slipped to the back of his mind. Mere bystanders for the real audience member.

Brenna Rossdale had her pretty eyes on him from below; something warm and slightly unnerving seemed to be pushing Jasper even further than usual. He hadn't messed around since breaking his wrist, because if it got worse, he might never get to do these stunts again. But since meeting up this morning, something empowered him. Gave him a silly kind of strength.

Like he always did, Jasper offered her a wonky grin and continued on, ignoring the way his stomach felt all churned up, a weird feeling in his chest. "Turtle! Turtle!"

He lapped up the motivation coming from below and pulled himself up onto the bar, now balancing himself with both feet set apart on the yellow, rusted metal.

_Turtle. _He smiled as they continued to shout that out. Ever since he was little, something had caught on and his father hadn't stopped calling him it. What it was, he couldn't remember, but he knew he liked it, and now it pretty much became the name everyone called him by.

_Turtle broke yet another window. Oh, Turtle fell off the roof. Turtle broke his wrist, it was only a matter of time. _Never Jasper. It didn't feel right – that's why he hated school, the teachers refused to call him it.

Taking away a sense of identity always irritated him. This was who he was. Crazy monkey boy swinging from the bars, having fun because what else were you supposed to do in such a miserable world?

"Aren't you scared?" Brenna's voice had an angelic sort of pitch to it, a soft tone that melted in the air and filled him with yet another bout of nausea. Jasper stared down at her and shook his head, adamant in ensuring he never let this strength fall apart. Especially not in front of the girl he liked.

That'd be... against boy code or something.

"Reaping day has happened for ages, why bother worrying?" He had one arm out as he walked along the bar and they shadowed him from underneath, the other one he brought up in a sort of semi-shrug to show his indifference to a possible death sentence.

"Because you could die, doesn't that worry you?"

_Yes. _"Not at all. How many people get shot for picking a mouldy apple or whatever crap they kill you for? I could fall right now and hit my head, would the world stop, no. But hey, at least I was having fun right?" He smiled at them, his enthusiasm wiping the frown that was starting to contaminate Brenna's fondness for his current escapade.

He might have always taken it to extremes, but life was full of them, one extreme leading onto the next. Taking the middle ground was boring. If life was short, he'd cram as much into it as he possibly could. With those he loved by his side, well, what couldn't he do?

"Won't your parents be wondering where you are?"

"I don't think they'll mind," he let himself fall at that moment, dropping down and bending his knees to take the impact. Locke and Loop clapped from behind Brenna. He beamed at them but continued to watch her, soaking in her questions, the way she seemed so curious about this and that to do with his life.

Did she like him back? He hoped so. He really did. What were boys supposed to do if they felt like it was mutual? He started to sweat – something he didn't want to show – and brought his cast to his face.

When Locke raised an eyebrow, Jasper giggled. "Itchy arm. Keep forgetting I have this damn thing on."

"Next time don't fall."

They stuck their tongues out like immature children, but at the end of the day, they were children. He knew where they lived tried to stamp that out of them, this sort of fun they wanted to have in their lives, but they could do it anyway, surely? What harm was it to anyone but themselves if they jumped roof to roof, or played in the mud, or took down the school bully once in a while?

His family, of course, hated it. But whatever. It was his body. "I mean they might be worried, yeah. But," he shrugged again, "that's life. All people ever do is worry. I say let loose."

Brenna and the guys tagged along behind him when they retreated back into the main part of the District. With nothing to do but wait, why not waste some time goofing around?

Reapings happened to be a constant in everyone's lives, but so was this, being himself.

Jasper refused to change for anyone.

* * *

><p><strong>Lexine Videl, 16 years old;<br>District Twelve Female.**

* * *

><p>When things looked down for others, Lexine always looked up.<p>

With a wistful smile, she took her grandmother's hand and clutched it tight as they escorted each other through the Merchant side of Twelve. As usual, it was a sunny day, blue and beautiful. But swirling around everyone, ash thickened the air, blotting out the streams of light and replacing it with a suffocating drabness.

But Lexine didn't mind. She saw nothing wrong with it – she loved being with her grandmother. In fact, she loved just being outdoors. The world was a beautiful, curious place. In more ways than one, breaking free from the shackles of confinement provided something that Lexine truly thought was special.

She pointed to countless people walking past, looking down, or depressed, or generally morose, and for Lexine none of that mattered. "Do you think the mines are a scary place? I've never been- oh look, that man's got one of the uniforms' on. And that boy. He's awfully young to be a miner, don't you think gran'."

Her voice carried through the air: dream-like, peaceful, almost innocently insane. People looked at Lexine like she was an oddity, and she couldn't for the life of her work out why or what she was doing wrong. She'd grown used to it, of course. People seemed to enjoy pointing their fingers, or staring with curious, or sometimes angry eyes when she said something.

What, who, where, when, why, how... so many questions, yet no one seemed to want to answer. Except her grandmother. She loved her for that.

"Your grandfather used to work down there, all dark and creepy he said. Sometimes, there were places where there was literally no sound, nothing but silence. He'd come out terrified. But he grew up, grew to accept it, and now we have enough money to buy us a special treat for the Reaping." Before her grandmother could get a moment's peace – a moment, people of her age really appreciated, Lexine jumped in with yet another question.

"Is the reaping really today? You don't think I'll be reaped- I mean the Hunger Games don't seem all that bad, nor difficult. B-but I don't want to have to leave you two. Or ma and pa."

Lexine thought back to the last time she had seen her mother and father. They never let themselves tag along in public – again, Lexine wasn't sure why. If it was her fault, or maybe their own doing, no one seemed to want to answer the questions that tugged at the back of her mind more than any of the others.

Her grandmother exhaled and pulled in Lexine's hand to her chest, protectively. Like she always did. It was a gesture Lexine loved, she felt warm and cosy, like nothing bad could ever happen. If bad things even existed – life hadn't really seemed like it could even be bad... it hadn't effected her in the slightest.

"The odds of you being drawn from that bowl aren't even worth thinking about Lex'. Come on now, what would you like to celebrate another year of safety?"

_Safety? _The word was strange to Lexine. She'd never felt like her safety had actually been compromised. Others might avert eye contact or walk around her if she tried to be friendly, but that didn't mean they intended to harm her in any way. Maybe they were just nervous. Maybe they didn't see the world in the same way she did.

Answers became very hard, yet very easy, to find in Twelve. Some were provided. Some were so subtle her fingers slipped through whenever she tried to grasp onto them.

"I think we should get a great big cake, with pink frosting. Those are my favourites."

They both laughed. "Alright, cake it is. I think I have the right amount of money." Her grandmother pulled out some coins from the side of her coat and stopped in front of the baker's window.

Inside, aromas wafted out in succulent waves, filtering through the ash until Lexine felt practically mesmerized by the overload attacking her senses. Within the bakers, she could see bread rolls, the cakes she loved, and some of the cakes she didn't.

It made her mouth water. Though she'd never starved, she'd never eaten as much as she'd seen being sold within such businesses. Picturing the cake made her giddy; she tugged on her grandmother's sleeve and pulled her through the front door – almost like a little child, excited for their first day of school.

"We'll take..." her grandmother paused for a moment to let her gaze hover over the glass panel, stopping Lexine's curious fingers from prodding the many displays of cake finery before her eyes.

She looked down at Lexine and motioned her to make her decision. _Oh, which one, which one? _She continued to look over and over until finding the right one for her, tapping it with a wide grin and thanking the man with a jump in her step when it was passed over.

"I hope the reaping hurries up," Lexine said, smiling at a wizened old man she almost knocked over as she exited the bakery.

"Don't think about it and it will. Now come on, your grandfather is probably wondering where we are. You know men. Always curious."

Lexine enjoyed that, though. Questions, answers. The world had so much to offer.

She wanted more, so much more.

And yet, in some ways, she had enough. Lexine loved her life. She wanted no part of it to change. Not for anything.

* * *

><p><strong>An earlier update because I won't be able to get anything out until probably after Christmas. I'll see. <strong>

**Again, thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter, your opinions are really helpful. These are our next four tributes, next up we move onto the first reaping chapter. **

**See you all then!**


	5. Up

**Chapter Five.**

* * *

><p><strong>Reapings, Part One.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Rayah Ausbern, 18 years old;<br>District Two Female.**

* * *

><p>Next to her, Rayah's friend stumbled left then right, forgoing balance for a quick tumble into the sidewalk. The blonde girl – Two's future tribute – sighed and took it upon herself to hook her arm under her friend's and escort her up, patting down her shoulders and levelling her eyes with her.<p>

A drowsy smirk painted itself across the brunette's face and she pecked Rayah on the nose. Both girls started giggling. "You're a piece of work Tiff'."

"Work, work, work. You're always about work aren't you?"

Rayah shook her head. "Work today, sure. But last week I don't recall much of my work ethic coming into play. Unless you count…" Rayah winked, starting to pull her friend along with her, "well, you know, _that, _as work."

Together, they chuckled loudly and brightly, arm in arm towards the Square where Rayah's destiny would literally play out for her. Sure, last week alcohol had been on her mind, boys between her legs, but today it was about volunteering. Last night the party had raged to a stupid hour, and she'd been smart about it.

No alcohol, no boys, no drunk Tif' to bombard her with requests about going here and going there. Rayah looked at her friend, still pissed, and was glad she hadn't succumbed. That kind of resolve would do her well. She enjoyed a good night just as much as anyone, but she also enjoyed living up to her potential, the inner confidence she had in herself, and the potential that boiled beneath her skin.

_This _was her day, and no matter how cute the guys were last night, or how tempting the booze had been, it wasn't a night for that kind of revelry. It was a night to prepare.

Around her, plenty of people she did know and didn't know offered her their congratulations. It was no secret who'd be representing their beloved District this year. Everyone knew Henry Eris and were either totally scared of him or in awe of how stupid the trainers must have been to elect him.

Everyone – unless they were a moron, Rayah thought – would be placing their trust in her and her hands. She wouldn't let them down, and if she did say so herself, knew there'd be no chance she would in fact lose.

After all, she was prepared for the worst. She was ready to do whatever it took. If she could resist the very substances in life that she fancied more than anything for this, she could do anything and everything to make it to the end.

It was only a matter of time. Preparation, tick. Now to take the next step.

Finally, with Tiffany still gurgling and hiccuping, Rayah made it to the Square. Everything was emblazoned with the Capitol seal and the colours District Two had taken to represent their steely, determined nature for both the Games and their patriotic attitude. Grey and black.

Boring, Rayah thought, but honest. One aspect to her life. The grey representing her hours of training, and the urge for a little bit of pink or yellow or something energetic to represent the hours she'd spent with Tiffany, other girls, and countless guys.

"Rayah Ausbern," she said, confidently to the Peacekeeper. He immediately recognised her – of course he would. She was the volunteer, even the officials knew her name.

With a confident nod, the Peacekeeper ushered them through and both took their places amongst the throngs of District citizens.

It really was like being cramped in a stuffy, odorous animal pen. So many noises were thrown this way and that, kids she knew shouting her name, other kids jumping on board because she was wearing the designated volunteer uniform.

But finally, the moment arrived, and even Tiffany became a blurred image in the corner of her eye. A distraction. That's all life really was – a constant distraction from her true purpose. Volunteering meant everything to Rayah, she'd lived and breathed this. Henry, the short, blonde haired ruffian she could see from here, wouldn't get in her way.

No one would.

"And here we have, escorting our wonderful tributes, Marciella Evereaux."

A woman – or girl, being a more appropriate term – waltzed on stage, all glam and no brains. Rayah tried to ignore the screeching that came from her puffed up lips and instead steeled herself to walk confidently up to the stage. _I've even practiced in the mirror. I can do this._

She was ready for a runner, if needs be, she'd get her hands dirty a little bit earlier than desired. Usually it didn't happen, but it could.

Thankfully, when she announced her name, poised, well-balanced in volume, but loud enough to assert her place, no one dared contest with her. She shimmied her shoulders and flicked her hair over one shoulder, a smirk on her face, levelled between eagerness and playfulness.

She didn't want to appear boring, but she didn't want to appear useless either.

When Henry finally made his way to the stage, most eyes were on her. A few chanted his name, but she chose to ignore the imbeciles who'd place their trust in such an unstable compatriot. Rayah played nice though, taking his hand and shaking it up and down. _Might as well get him on board the Ausbern train, he'll be useful. _

Two fell away behind closed doors, and into the Justice Building she went. Rayah let the moment sink in and relished it.

Ecstasy like being drunk flooded through her veins. The same pleasure she felt when with a certain fellow or two. It all felt natural, even more so, now she was the volunteer. The tribute.

_Now to win, _she thought. And win she would.

* * *

><p><strong>Adley Proctor, 15 years old;<br>District Five Female.**

* * *

><p>Adley tried to keep up.<p>

On the way to the reaping, no one wanted to be left alone, drifting to the back. It made them feel unwelcome. Lost. Nothing.

Instead of letting that swallow her whole, Adley had greeted the closest person to her after leaving the house, and slowly the entourage expanded into plenty of people she knew, but hardly anyone she really cared for.

Still, it didn't matter to her. She smiled with her hands in her pockets, hurrying along on her little legs after her friends. Watching other people move out of the way to let her group – her gang – forwards, gave Adley a sense of empowerment. She belonged. But then again, when she really looked at the others mumbling to one another, infusing a sense of merriment reaping day tried to dissuade, she felt like she was that drifter.

People called her name, included her briefly, and then moved onto someone else. She was there, but not quite… _there. _Adley refused to let it bog her down. The fact it was reaping day, the one day every year the entire District dreaded, was enough to depress even the brightest person. And Adley knew, deep down, she was not the brightest, sunniest person around.

Quite the contrary really, even if she didn't let other people see it. No one wanted to be around someone bringing everyone down. People wanted smiles, and laughs, and a girl willing to mess around.

When someone told a joke up front, Adley laughed. Byron, the boy she'd probably deem her closest friend, turned to face her and offered a thumbs-up.

"We've got plans afterwards. Y'know we all like to hang out once the reaping is over. Fancy joining us?"

Adley nodded a little bit too enthusiastically. "Sure." Rather than fumble over her words however, a contrast to the way her stomach twisted and turned, she kept it simple. People seemed drawn to that, she noticed. A girl who was quick with her words and got to the point, but was a shoulder to cry on despite that.

Adley maintained whatever she could, because at the end of the day, these people – Byron especially – meant a lot to her even if they didn't quite convey the same level of care back. They were her… friends. And friends looked out for one another.

"Great. Well Cyndy has a free house so we thought we could maybe get some drinks and stuff."

"That's illegal," Adley stated, before realising how _uncool _that sounded. She offered a stupid looking smirk to try to make herself look less awkward. Byron started laughing. Inwardly, Adley slapped herself – _idiot, idiot, idiot. _

"No one cares if no one sees. We'll meet up after okay?" With a cheery smile, Byron turned back and merged into the crowd of boys and girls that faced the opposite way to Adley. She didn't mind. They would talk to her if they had no one else to talk to, they knew her name, in fact she'd been round their houses when home life became too much to handle.

They liked each other. There were just always other people to like more.

It didn't matter though. At least she had people – more people than others had.

Once they entered into the main portion of the Square, her group finally dissipated into their separate sections. Boys tagged along with other boys, and Adley skipped along and giggled next to a certain girl with ginger pigtails awkwardly stuck out either side of her head.

When she turned and offered Adley a smile, she grinned back and the two started chatting quietly as the Mayor, and then escort, walked onto the stage to begin the main process of the reaping.

"Did you hear about Cyndy's party?"

Adley swallowed a lump down in her throat. _Party? I'm not good at parties. _But she nodded merrily. "Can't wait. It's gonna be fun."

"Sure is. Think Byron might get drunk… that'd be nice." She winked. Adley decided there and then, as the escort dipped her hand in the bowl, she didn't this girl with pigtails. Although Adley would still do almost anything for her, it didn't change how she'd actually feel on the inside.

Nothing ever did.

"Adley Proctor!"

Funnily enough, if it wasn't for the very same girl, she might have hit the ground.

Adley had faced many things in her life – good and bad. Mainly bad. But this reached a new, unimaginable level.

Her eyes widened, and too quickly – faster than she could comprehend – tears poured from her eyes. She tried to stop, but she couldn't.

Up on stage, once her shaky legs actually managed to carry her there, she knew she looked pathetic. She could see Byron's own shocked expression to match her own. And at the back, her mother and father, separate sides, but united in a grief that only parents could ever hope to feel.

It made her want to cry even more. It made her want to run to them, so someone could comfort her for a change.

But instead, she balled her hands into fists and looked up at the sky. _I wish I could fly away. _She ignored whoever was called up next.

It didn't matter. It was her and her alone. She would be facing this, she would be dealing with her own life, and she would probably lose it.

She would probably die.

_Definitely _die.

* * *

><p><strong>Ramon Decker, 18 years old;<br>District Seven Male.**

* * *

><p><em>Damn Reaping day, <em>Ramon scowled, glancing around at the crowd milling about, destination: death. Or, probable safety. Ramon did his best to think like that. After all, only two would be going. _Two. _Two out of thousands. That wasn't so bad, right?

He looked at Darien, sombre with his brown eyes on the ground. A chill went down his spine. It was still two people that had families and friends. No matter how small the number, it was like a domino effect.

People suffered through other's suffering, and in turn, others suffered through their suffering. Ramon shook his head, _no, I'm not going to let that get me down. _Darien almost jumped two foot in the air when he poked him in the shoulder, chuckling.

Usually the two of them would be kicking up their feet, or working hard, _together. _The fact they were together meant an awful lot to Ramon. Not everyone had someone, he had his brothers, but at the end of the day he had boundaries even family couldn't cross.

With Darien, he crossed that line which enabled so much more in life to open up for him. Ramon poked him again and finally he smiled back, a temporary lift from this infectious reaping funk the District was contaminated with.

"You'll get lines."

"Already got them," he pointed to his face and laughed – a sad sound, not the sort Ramon liked to listen to. If others couldn't smile like he could, sometimes he questioned why, and those whys were potentially very harmful. Instead, he punched Darien in the shoulder, in the playful way he always did.

Rough-housing to get across a point words sometimes failed at expressing.

"The sun's being a pain in the ass, if it's hiding away, we gotta lighten things up ourselves. Who else is gonna do it huh?" Things were slowly growing ever more depressing as they neared the Square. Over Darien's shoulder he could see a little girl, no older than twelve, break out into sobs as she flung herself into her mother's arms.

Ramon fought back a sigh, almost forcing the smile to grow into his cheeks. It made him look sappy, but he didn't care. Idiot or not, he was at least _trying, _and trying meant an awful deal here.

"Sometimes _you_ can be the pain in the ass."

Ramon winked. "You'd know."

At that, Darien went an adorable shade of red, blushing and looking at the ground. Kicking a loose bit of gravel away, Ramon shuddered with laughter and pushed their way into the queue. Other people moved away, Ramon noting how lost they seemed that they couldn't even fight back.

Not that he was trying to be rude. But the quicker he got this over with, the quicker he could assemble his thoughts and get to grips with it being over – his last reaping – then life would move on swiftly and he could enjoy it a hell of a lot more.

First, though, to get through this.

Darien stuck as close to Ramon as he could. He didn't try to be it, but in Seven, it happened to be a place where size meant an awful deal. Working with axes and lumber, either you bulked up, or hid away. He shouldered through the crowd until he had a good spot near to the aisle, with the stage clear up front so he could watch as this thing unfolded before his eyes.

Where no one could really see, as the fuss continued to increase with time, Ramon gave Darien's hand a quick squeeze and smiled warmly at him. The two shared something in that look, and quickly, before it could be lost, they savoured it as the Mayor finally walked onto the stage.

_Blah, blah, blah, _was all Ramon really heard. Pointless noise going through one ear and out the other. It didn't mean a single thing to him, even when the escort reaped the female tribute, Ramon tried to detach himself from the entire process.

Until he heard the next name. A name that sent his whole world into disarray.

"Darien Wilks!"

_W-what…?_ Both of them turned to one another. For that brief second, everything in the background died away, blurring to nothing as they looked at each other. Then, at a painful speed, it hit Ramon right in the chest and a strangled sort of noise made its way out of his mouth.

"No..." Darien's lip trembled. Ramon's mind was racing at a million thoughts per second. _Do it. Do it. _And yet, as a Peacekeeper grabbed his poor Darien's arm, he remained silent, watching as he was dragged to the stage.

_It's my last year… I'm free… safe. I can live my life. _Darien looked over his shoulder at Ramon, the same look they'd shared only moments ago, but broken beyond repair. Unless he did it. Unless he became the ultimate idiot – the best kind of boyfriend he could be.

"I volunteer!"

Maybe a second later, it would have been too late. Darien made it halfway up the steps and then froze, looking back over at Ramon as the entire District seemed to turn to face the volunteer.

Blood thundered in his ears, and as he took his first few steps, he became aware of how hard his heart was beating against his ribcage.

When he passed Darien, he felt his fingers dig into his sleeve. "No." This time, it was more forceful.

Ramon offered a shaky smile, winking at him. "Yes. Now bugger off, this is my stage."

He'd volunteered.

_I'm a tribute._

Moments ago, he'd been selfish enough – or smart enough – to value his life more. But thinking about it, what kind of person did that make him?

A bad one. And that's not what Ramon wanted to be remembered as.

_I'm a tribute. _He didn't care. He'd saved a life. That's all that mattered.

* * *

><p><strong>Chase Whittaker, 18 years old;<br>District Twelve Male.**

* * *

><p>Ordell, Chase's best, and maybe only true friend, was taking it as seriously as he could.<p>

Chase felt a faint prick of guilt somewhere in the back of his head. He knew, as the two of them walked side by side towards the District Square, that it was his own fault why Ordell had dropped the smile for the same frown he wore on his face.

He knew, because Ordell was just that kind of guy, he supplied Chase with the kind of energy he gave out, or needed. And today, more than ever, Chase needed the dreary silence that hung thick through the District.

He had his own hands shoved in his pockets, and with firm strides forwards, he tried to keep his mind as clear as possible. So many distractions threatened to obscure his mind, and one by one, he threw them back out.

The fact it was the reaping was bad enough. Fear ravaged through everyone, and fear made Chase feel insecure. It made him feel almost… weak. Like if he gave into the fear, then he'd cave, and Ordell would put on that cheery smile and pat his back, but he knew inwardly he'd be sighing and wondering _why _and _what _he was doing with him.

Chase didn't want to be a liability. He offered, for the first time, a faint hint of a smile at his best friend and then turned his head forwards again. With every step, he calmed himself down. It was easy today to let everything grow and grow and grow until it became impossible to stop. Under piles of emotion, it was easy to lose yourself.

Chase stubbornly refused to let himself become that kind of person. Around him he saw so many families huddled tight together, lost in melancholy, and it made Chase even more resolved to at least appear… ready. Prepared. He liked the word. The feeling of being ready for whatever was thrown his way.

_If I'm reaped, then so be it, the world changes for no one. I can plan, plot, and do whatever I have to do to make it as far as I can. _It was a smart way to think. Dangerous, though. If he let himself sink further into that sort of acceptance, the acceptance for the worst fate, then it was yet another entrance to the same kind of despair.

Chase bit back a sigh. No matter what he did, he always felt like he could do that little bit more. He could appear strong to hold off weakness, but then that very same strength made him feel inhumane and that was far from the truth.

The two friends made their way through in complete silence. Chase had his own mind as a proper companion. Lingering in the back of his head, his inner voice continued to fill him with worry, but as the Square loomed on the horizon, he worked even harder to ignore everything it had to say.

It wasn't a time for distraction. At least if he had his wits about him, it couldn't be so bad. The worst that could happen was his name being reaped.

_At least Ordell is safe, _he thought briefly. The knowledge that his best friend at nineteen years old had escaped the reaping, filled him with a bitter sense of relief. He was safe and he was glad. But Chase wasn't, and he envied that.

"I'll see you later," Ordell offered him a half-hearted wave and a wobbly grin. Chase nodded back and made his way through to the back section where the eldest eligible citizens stood. Someone greeted him and he replied in earnest, but his heart wasn't in it. Most of his body – if not all – was focused completely on the stage.

_Showtime. _

Most people in the younger sections were restless as the Mayor read the Treaty. Thankfully for Chase, those around him were mature enough to hold their tongue and fight through their boredom.

When the escort made his way on stage in a flurry of blue feathers, the girls immediately stood rigid with fear. _Not Stephanie, not Stephanie._

The name called didn't belong to his sister and for that he was grateful. But the girl on stage looked just as frail – if not more. Totally unprepared. A bloodbath waiting to happen.

Chase resented himself for immediately jumping to that conclusion, but it was logical to assume that. A casualty he'd have to grow away from. Luckily for him, he didn't know the girl. It'd make it easier when he watched her die.

"Chase Whittaker!"

_Who will watch me die? _The morbid thought threatened to break the resolve he'd built up ever since leaving his house. His eyes immediately fell to the ground, and balling his hands into fists, controlling the tidal wave of emotion that almost broke him, he nodded and moved to the central aisle.

All eyes were on him and he hated it. They were judging him. Looking for weakness, and if they found any, they'd exploit it immediately.

He did his best to give them nothing.

When he saw the girl up close, that was when he couldn't hold back. He wasn't a cold person. The smile that warped his stoic expression came across more awkward than anything, but it was enough, and the girl smiled back.

_Time to plan, _he thought, as the cameras moved away and the crowd started to disperse. He thought about everything that could happen, everything he felt, and everything he was trying not to feel.

His head felt fit to explode.

Chase took a deep breath and walked into the Justice Building. Emotions he didn't even know he could feel were raging inside. In the blink of an eye, he'd gone from safe to basically a walking corpse.

But he didn't let it hold him back from that brief moment where hope became important. He _could _win, if he tried. _I can._

And he'd try.

That's all he could do.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, I managed to get another one out before Christmas! This brings us halfway through the tribute intros, twelve down, twelve to go! ;D<strong>

**So quick thing, if you read Beyond the Veil, the next epilogue isn't going to be happening. Sorry, but I've decided to conclude the story. Writing that chapter, something didn't seem final about it, whereas Tallis' epilogue seemed like the best way to tie things up, so there's now a little complete next to the story :D**

**Anyway, let me know what you thought! Have a great Christmas, see you with the next chapter!**


	6. Our Way

**Chapter Six.**

* * *

><p><strong>Reapings, Part Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Tristian Fortier, 17 years old;<br>District Four Male.**

* * *

><p>Reputation meant everything in Four. Who you were. What you had. Past, present and future.<p>

Despite his status and what he was about to do, Tristian let himself relax for the next ten or so minutes from his house to the Square- or at least he tried to.

Distracting himself became easier the moment he met up with his group of friends. They cheered him on, fuelling a deep sense of pride he'd grown to nurture, and finally he smiled and eased into the swing of things.

For the time being, anyway.

"What are we supposed to do without you here to annoy us?" Jude offered him a silly grin. Tristian nudged him in the shoulder and shook his head.

"Find someone else to bug for a while?" Part of it was true, but given the fact he was clearly smiling, no one took it seriously. They all laughed like good friends and continued walking towards his future as a tribute of the Hunger Games. A future that made his stomach somersault, his mind whirl with so many questions, even when he tried to keep everything to a minimum.

He just wanted to enjoy his last few minutes of normalcy. Where he could be with the people he cared about most in the world.

"D'ya think when you get back we can all come live with you?"

Cordelia's comment garnered a positive response- a response Tristian tried to let motivate him. If they believed in him, then he should too. _I mean, how many days, weeks, months and years have I trained for this? _He practically breathed this lifestyle of being a Career.

Even if it was tiring, even if sometimes- on the worst days- he felt like he was wasting his time, becoming another mindless drone to the Capitol, it was his life. And his life meant everything. It was his and his alone, sometimes to share, sometimes to keep secret.

"Promise us you won't turn into one of those idiots we see every year. Or fall for those pretty girls with the blonde hair and big chest-"

Tristian grinned again at Jude. "I promise. I'm around such beautiful women every day, I think I can handle myself."

The female members of their little group lit up at that comment. Tristian felt momentarily happy with himself for giving them something to go on in a world that constantly sought out the weak and pointed out your flaws. That was important to him. Helping his own sense of confidence and the others around him.

"It's possible to be a mean, lean killing machine and a nice guy, you know," Jude said.

"You're gonna whoop ass and look cool with those cute little smiles!" Everyone's enthusiasm, cheers and pats on the back encouraged him all the way to the Square.

_If only. _Tristian held in a sigh and joined in- offering those apparent smiles they went on and on about. Not many people seemed down about the reaping, they didn't have to be. Knowing Tristian would be the volunteer meant all the boys who never sought after glory in the Games could go through today without having to worry.

It gave Tristian some sense of pride that he was giving them that safety net. Even though he was taking away his own, risking everything for the very same dreams he drilled into his head with every waking moment. The dreams his family, friends and personal trainer praised over and over and over again.

"We'll see you after."

Tristian nodded. "Not for long, though. I'll be gone soon."

"Well we get the goodbyes, see you then. Make sure to look confident up there, confidence is key."

Again Tristian nodded, agreeing with that at least. He wasn't arrogant, but confident that he could play. Maybe he doubted a lot, but doubt was human, doubt was an inevitability if all you ever did was try and try.

_I know I can do this, _he straightened up and moved on into the Square. Someone bid him a hello and he returned the gesture as amicably as he could.

Not that he happened to be Mr Popular, but today people knew his name, so he allowed himself to take in the attention. It'd be something he'd be getting a lot of soon enough.

Jude went over plenty of this and plenty of that when the main ceremony began. No one cared that he was talking, the Mayor droned on about nothing anyone cared about so it was good to have a distraction. Tristian didn't enjoy it. He tried to remain as composed as he could and that sort of nuisance- as good a friend Jude was- would shatter that sort of resolve he was building up.

Fortunately, the Escort soon made her way on stage and his friend fell to silence.

Everyone did.

The volunteer announced herself and there on stage, she smiled and called out her name for all to hear: Rhaella Cresswell. His future District partner.

Tristian observed her. She wasn't the sort of girl he'd liked to have had accompany him, but it was the sort of girl he expected. The blonde girl with the nice body his friends warned him about.

He wasn't so stupid to let that sort of thing distract him. This meant too much. He was prepared for that.

Finally, a name was reaped. A single, pointless name that fell on deaf ears when Tristian raised a hand and walked confidently into the aisle.

He earned as many cheers as Rhaella did, and side by side, he noted that they definitely looked quite the team. That was also important, he had to admit.

Image meant a great deal in a shallow city such as the Capitol.

"Nice to meet you," Rhaella extended her hand.

Tristian forced himself to accept it, smiling. "Nice to meet you too."

Whether it'd be _nice _in a few days, he'd have to see.

He could deal with a handful. He'd be fair about it. If she got in his way, then like he'd been trained, she'd have to be removed swiftly. But fair. Fair was important.

Fair in a death match seemed stupid to cling to, but it meant a lot to him. And Tristian, for all his doubt, refused to crumble in that regard.

He wouldn't lose his identity.

Nothing would take that from him.

* * *

><p><strong>Holly Branwell, 17 years old;<br>District Six Female.**

* * *

><p>It might have been Reaping day- a day two teenagers would be hauled up to die- but Holly Branwell and her best friend Leah acted as if it were just any other day.<p>

Both girls were practically superglued to the other, arm in arm, striding down the street with smiles on their lips and mischief in their eyes. Holly looked at everyone around her, ambling past, bound to the depressive mood.

She felt pity for them, mainly. Leah laughed a little, a soft tinkling sound that motivated Holly even more. Everyone tried so very hard to fit in to their meaningless lives, lives dictated by a state that knew how to suck the fun out of everything.

Holly adjusted to this life as best she could, in the only style she knew. People either hooked themselves to her side, or turned away. Because despite this despicable state of oppression they lived in, Holly always tried to work things to her advantage.

It was either that, or keel over and let the world throw its shit at you. She refused to be anybody's puppet- unless that was, in fact, a smart role to play.

"Skank at twelve o'clock."

Holly looked up at Leah's voice and immediately narrowed her eyes when _she _came into view. "Oh, and she's brought her dogs. Joy."

The two blonde girls met at the junction of the street, both ways leading opposite ends of the District, and the other lane leading to the Square. It was like a showdown of sorts, a juicy bit of excitement Holly relished the moment it kicked into action.

"Holly Branwell. Nice to see you're so… happy today."

"Nice to see you left your makeup at home. We see the real you." Holly's lips curled into half a smirk. Leah snickered and then straightened herself up. Either side of the girl before them, four others had their arms crossed, glaring daggers at the two in front.

_Let them think we're nothing but dirt under their shoes, then they'll see who runs this show. _Holly anticipated their next move, and surely, like the most predictable morons they certainly were, she started to laugh.

"That's the best you've got?"

"Oh believe me," she winked, "I'm just getting warmed up."

It wasn't the school hallway, though. Holly knew that and looked at Leah who understood the time as well. Reaping day, although nothing more than fly in the ointment, couldn't be missed. Holly didn't do being punished all that well. Being told that what she was doing was _bad, _that she couldn't do it again.

She did what she liked. But that didn't make it easy to just give up the fight. Not when it was just getting started.

"We'll see you around hun. None of us have the time to spend on mongrels like you."

"Have you even looked in the mirror this morning?" Holly turned to go, before they could beat her to the punch. "Newsflash _hun, _keep away from us if you know what's good for you. I'd rather not chip a nail."

Arm in arm, Holly and Leah strode off, leaving the little girl gang huffing and puffing in their wake.

The Square finally presented itself before them. A rather handsome, laidback Peacekeeper offered them all a smile when they walked up to the table he managed.

"Morning ladies. Keeping out of trouble I hope?"

Holly's eyes immediately widened like the little schoolgirls you saw- the cute ones who never put a toe out of line. She fluttered her eyelashes and nodded eagerly. "Certainly sir."

"Good to hear."

He took their names and ushered them through, but not before Holly got a little bit out of their encounter. After all, she was such a _good _girl.

"Oh, if you see a girl, around my height, hair like a nest, goes by the name of Ilia. Heard she and her friends have been getting up to some rather… naughty things behind closed doors. Might want to check it out." Holly shrugged her shoulders, like she was none the wiser. "Things you Peacekeepers won't like."

"I'll keep that in mind."

With that, the two girls progressed onwards. Leah offered her a clap on the shoulder and that was that. Fun over. For a little bit anyway.

The Reaping always dragged, and this year was nothing different.

The Treaty was dull, the Mayor even duller, and the Escort like an oversized butterfly with glitter practically raining down those makeshift wings taped to her back. Leah yawned and Holly started giggling behind her hand, so as not to draw attention.

But then, of course, as luck always had it in her life, the attention came swarming towards her in the worst way possible.

"Holly Branwell!"

Leah gawped at her, looking rather unattractive, Holly noted. Then, she shook that thought away. _I've been reaped… reaped… shit! _

Not really knowing what to do, she resorted to what she always did. Instead of focusing on her present self, she glanced at how everyone else was receiving the news. Most stared at her with sympathy, some avoided eye contact, a minority whispering to those standing next to them.

Well, at least she had some attention. Now to play it up. Make a show.

She'd get no points for being over the top with confidence, because, as sad as it was, she knew right now she didn't look like anything special. Not like a Victor. So instead, the sympathy angle kicked into play, and like a perfect little ragdoll, Holly fell to the ground in a fit of sobs.

"No!" she wailed, clawing at Leah's legs when a Peacekeeper- the same Peacekeeper from a moment ago- flung her over his shoulder. She saw that his eyes when he settled her down were laced with sympathy, a frown on his face. Then he straightened up and nodded at her. _Behave, or else. I don't want to have to do anything… _That's what the look said.

Holly sniffled on stage, even going so far as to wiping her nose on the escort's sleeve, dramatically blowing away everything she could onto the woman's dress. Some people giggled nervously. Others only frowned.

The Escort looked humiliated.

But Holly, watching her District partner walk on stage, didn't care.

She'd taken one step to gaining attention in a different light, all she had to do was work it a little bit more and maybe a sound strategy would form itself together. Make itself known.

_I do need one, after all. _Her strength wouldn't win her this fight. Her mind would. Her smile. Her eyes. Her attitude.

No matter what, she readied herself for the game. Competition had done her well in the past. It'd do her well in the future.

* * *

><p><strong>Casimar Kaveli, 18 years old;<br>District Nine Male.**

* * *

><p>Everything around their little gang threatened to pop the bubble they'd enveloped themselves in.<p>

Casimar looked at his friends, smiling despite the circumstance, and then all around him. People, like they did every year, were huddled in tight units of family or friends. Whispering was predominant. No one wanted to be loud or vocal because it wouldn't _look _right.

He then gazed at his friends, the complete opposite to that particular unspoken law amongst the citizens of Nine. He was the only one who remained silent, listening to what they had to say.

Ana tried to keep up with Liana and Luke who were chatting away at one another- trading playful insults and quips that Casimar couldn't help but frown at.

Not that he was upset they were enjoying themselves, but because he felt almost like an idiot for not being like those around him. Maybe he should be crying, or should be walking with a solemn face, a grey expression with his hands tucked into his pockets.

But then again, he was so used to listening to what people expected of him, that it felt good to sort of break away from that. So instead, when Liana offered a rather crude joke about their school teacher, he burst out laughing, happy to be a part of their group.

"How's the family Luke?" Casimar decided to change the topic before it became a little too overbearing. Some people were offering nasty looks, and Casimar took a little bit of pride in his reputation. Controlled but not too controlled. He wanted to look like he supported all walks of life but that he wasn't a fool either.

Only fools allowed themselves to naively build up such an opposition to the emotions on Reaping day that they completely forgot what the true meaning was. Casimar nodded and smiled at a little girl that walked past. She grinned back, before skipping after her mother.

At least she was safe. It made him happy that some part of the District- the very young amongst them- could escape something so harsh and cruel. But that didn't stop it taking the lives of teenagers. No. To the Capitol, they were fit to fight to the death.

The thought made Casimar feel even worse.

"Brothers are playing up again," Luke scratched at the back of his head, shrugging his shoulders, "but what can ya do. They're kids. Might as well make the most of the time they've got left."

Ana looked visibly shocked. Liana smirked, and Casimar, being Casimar, shook his head with a melancholic frown on his face.

"They'll have ages left, Luke."

"Not if the Reaping takes them." Even for such a dreary, morbid topic, the boy had a big smile on his face. Like if he could smile, a little bit of the darkness would be ignored. Liana punched him in the shoulder and Casimar let them continue, giving up entirely.

_I can't help everyone, _he thought, sighing. Ana gave him a knowing smile, the same sort of sad smile you gave someone who really understood what they were doing. That's why she was his best friend. She got it.

Once they'd reached the Square, Liana hugged them all in turn and left to join her parents waiting at the back. Maybe that was why she acted so nonchalant about the whole thing- she was now safe from it. She'd grown past the eligible age and could relax for the rest of her life.

Casimar envied her of that, then pushed it aside. It was stupid to think like that. Besides, he only had this last reaping and he himself was safe. So would Luke and Ana. Then together, they'd never have to do this again. It made Casimar smile warmly at Ana as he wished her good luck and departed alongside Luke, heading for the other eighteen year olds waiting near the back.

"Can't believe you've gotta work after this." Luke said, shaking his head as they shouldered their way into the crowd.

"It's important I do." _Even if I don't want to. _Casimar felt the bitterness building up like it always did- the fact he was never allowed a moment's respite- and swallowed it back down. He did what he did for his family. There were no two ways about it.

He had a responsibility. He'd be a good brother, a good son. Like he tried to be a good friend.

"You shouldn't have to, you're a kid. Live a little."

Casimar smirked. "If only it were that easy."

With the conversation coming to an end, the escort pranced on stage, throwing red petals everywhere from a wicker basket. Little twelve year olds at the front stepped back with disgust.

_Good on them, _Casimar thought, nodding his head. This wasn't a time to celebrate.

The girl that was reaped looked visibly stunned, but Casimar felt a surge of respect at how well she carried herself on stage. Shocked, scared, but almost… ready. It'd do her good.

Better to act prepared then formulate a plan later. The act is almost as important as the truth.

"Casimar Kaveli."

A second went by. A single second that felt like an hour.

"Fuck."

Luke looked at Casimar. _Oh… _He immediately went red, realising he'd sworn out loud, not keeping it in like he should have done. For the whole walk up, Casimar tried to piece back together a respectable image, like the girl staring at him.

But then Ana reached out when he passed her, and not even Casimar, trying as hard as he could to be hardened, would ignore her. The two hugged. Ana cried. Casimar didn't.

_If I cry, I'm a nobody. _He didn't think so- not really. Although, all his life that was all he'd done. Keep in the worst emotion in favour of the good. Without being extreme, he kept an outlook on life that was healthy.

But now that was he reaped, he didn't know how to feel. How to control.

_I best start learning, _he stood firmly on stage, looking out at the District. His home.

A place he was determined to return to.

* * *

><p><strong>Clarette Aamira, 16 years old;<br>District Ten Female.**

* * *

><p>The Aamira family went to the reaping together. That was that. No arguing, no fuss. You did it, or you were punished.<p>

Clarette stumbled down the front steps of her house, bottle in hand, looking over her shoulder with a smirk on her face. After all, just because she followed _that _rule, didn't mean she had to follow the others. She'd walk with her family- but walk in her own manner. How she wanted.

They couldn't make her do everything they expected. It was her life.

"Acton, lock the door behind you- oh and Meera, bring your sister's coat. There's a chill in the air."

"Yeah it's fucking freezing," Clarette laughed at the way her mother's lips immediately pursed, like they were tuned into their relationship's every twist and turn.

Then, rolling her eyes, she mouthed the word: 'language', just as Clarette's mother indeed reprimanded her with the exact same word.

"Be a good mother and hold this would ya," Clarette held out the bottle, to which her mother immediately wrinkled her nose. Swatting her hand away, her mother looked back over her shoulder and offered a curt nod to her other two children.

_Of course, _Clarette turned away, taking a long swig of her drink. It washed through her like ecstasy- filling all the cracks with a perfumed sense of pleasure. Until her brother's voice pierced the reverie and she forced herself to ignore him.

"You should tuck your shirt in too."

Halfway down her street, it went on like that. Acton pointing out her hair was messy, or how her trousers were tucked into her socks, or she'd trip and break her neck if she didn't tie up her laces _right this second. _

"Finished yapping yet?"

Acton looked hurt, before his ears went an ugly shade of red. "Watch your tongue."

"Watch your face."

"That doesn't even make sen-" Before Acton could finish, Clarette gestured to her younger sister. Meera peered up at her mother, and with a resigned nod, the younger girl walked daintily over to her elder sister.

Maybe they thought she was a bad influence, but every good little kid needed one. In her mother's eyes, it showed them the consequences of bad decisions. Clarette was the epitome to that kind of lifestyle.

What she didn't expect, or encouraged, was Meera's almost obsessive devotion to her elder sister. When they were out of earshot, Clarette whispered in her younger sister's ear and the two of them burst out laughing, before glancing at their uptight brother, who caught their stare and shoved his nose in the air, averting eye contact.

"So anyway, last night you should have seen this guy. He had like, you know, those eyes that were like green but not the colour of sick. You know-" on and on Clarette yammered about nothing in particular. It was just nice to be heard for a change. She felt so suffocated in her house that these spontaneous explosions of nonsense were inevitable. She couldn't avoid them even if she tried.

Meera played the good little sister, and surprisingly seemed hooked to her every word. Clarette felt invigorated, refusing to acknowledge their mother who continued to call both their names until they'd reached the queue leading into the Square.

Meera turned and finally nodded, beginning to walk off. Clarette called her name.

"And you should have seen the size of his-"

"That's enough young lady." Both girls started to giggle, and with Acton following her every movement, she offered Meera a cheeky wink before following the process into the Square.

Once amongst the throngs of people she couldn't give a rat's ass about, Clarette bid her family a quick, unenthusiastic goodbye and sauntered into the row where she forced her way between two rather prissy looking girls.

At her meagre height, one of them looked down at her and grinned, revealing chipped, ugly teeth. Clarette started to laugh. "It's called toothpaste."

The girl looked insulted, before turning swiftly to anger. Raising a hand, she smirked. "This is called a fist."

"This is called an I-Don't-Give-A-Fuck."

The girl readied herself for a punch, or something, but Clarette raised a finger and pointed it to a man in uniform walking past, glaring at the ugly girl. "Oh, and that's called a Peacekeeper. Say hi!"

At that, she blushed and turned to the front, ignoring the snickering coming from her right. Clarette felt happy with herself, emptying the bottle and letting it smash around her feet. A girl shrieked but she ignored it, paying full attention on the stage in front.

_The Escort looks like a hooker, _Clarette thought, amused. She did in fact, look rather provocative. A boy hooted and the young woman went bright red. A few girls started to laugh and then cut to silence when a slip was pulled out of the bowl.

_Not Meera, please, it's her first year. _Clarette mumbled to herself and elbowed the girl that tried to shush her. Maybe she acted like a brat, but her sister was her sister. Family sucked, but family was family. It couldn't be her.

"Clarette Aamira!"

_Oh. _"Guess it's me."

She shrugged her shoulders, not quite knowing how to respond. Her head told her one thing, her heart told her another. Mainly her head repeating _punch her, punch her, _directed to the bitch on her left who started laughing when she stepped out into the aisle.

She contained herself though, and in fact, did her best to appear somewhat… composed. If only she hadn't drank last night. If only she hadn't drank this morning.

Her walk was a mess, but it was a walk no doubt. At least she didn't fall over.

When in shot of a camera, she offered a wonky grin and then stood firmly on the stage, looking out at the District. Acton looked shocked. That was good. _My brother does care after all. _

When the male was reaped, Clarette focused more on what she was feeling- and more importantly her, future. She'd seen so many Games- live and on recaps. She'd seen how it worked. Seen enough to at least _understand. _

Maybe she could do it.

Maybe, with that knowledge, she had a shot.

Or maybe she was being an idiot. Either way, she refused to give up. Clarette was not a loser. She didn't lose anything.

Her life happened to be something she didn't plan on losing anytime soon, not now, and especially not in the Arena.

It meant too much to her.

* * *

><p><strong>Might be because Christmas puts me in such a good mood, that I got this chapter written all today. Running off some festive energy!<strong>

**Anyway, that's it for the reapings. Up next, we start our goodbyes and soon we'll be in the Capitol.**

**Hope everyone had a great day. Got me some nice stuff, spent time with family, ate some food (a lot of food). **

**See you with the next chapter!**


	7. A Little Hope

**Chapter Seven.**

* * *

><p><strong>Goodbyes, Part One.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Saira Carinne, 18 years old;<br>District One Female.**

* * *

><p>The room was as grandeur as they came. Saira sat patiently in the chair, one leg over the other, hands pressed firmly against her knee, <em>waiting. <em>

They would come soon enough. Not that she cared too much, but it'd be nice to have a send-off from someone.

People there to wish her a fond farewell, tell her she could do this, give her a little bit of a boost. After all, earlier today, with her future actions creeping up on her, that all too familiar doubt had begun to attack her confidence.

She told herself it was natural- with so much pressure she put upon herself, it was normal to feel that way. Now, though, she felt calm. Ready. It was a nice feeling, being exposed to post-reaping nerves wouldn't have been comforting, wouldn't have been beneficial.

Finally, the door was pushed open and Saira gave a polite smile to her parents who walked on in. Though they had never been close, they were still her parents, and they had come to say goodbye. Temporarily, though. Saira knew she _could _do this. It'd be a lot of hard work, the road would be no picnic, but after all, what would be the point in a competition if it was easy?

She'd worked hard to reach this point, she was prepared to push herself even more.

"You did it then," her mother lightly held onto her daughter's arms. Saira complied and stood up, wrapping her arms round her thin frame, embracing for a second or two before sitting back down, nodding.

"It's been something I've wanted for a long time."

Her father stood there, almost uncomfortably. Saira readjusted herself in her seat, trying to appear a little less… awkward. It wouldn't do well to know her last encounter with her parents had been people stepping on each other's toes, or her mouth drying up, tongue-tied for words.

"If it's what you want, then I'm happy you've achieved it."

Saira smiled appreciatively. "I won't let you down in there. I know enough to make it all the way. I wouldn't have volunteered without feeling like this was something I could do."

"We believe you darling." Her mother gave her the warmest grin Saira believed she'd ever seen on that otherwise cold face. It made Saira's stomach feel a little less shaky. The nerves disappeared almost entirely.

She didn't want to force herself to be the kind daughter. If she could actually be that girl, then it'd save both herself and her parents the trouble of pretending.

"I know the Seymour boy," her father began, "confident young man."

"His father's quite influential in One isn't he?" Saira tried to focus in on the boy who'd be accompanying her- what she could ascertain about his personality, or his attitude towards volunteering, or his strengths and flaws. It was always hard on a first impression, but after all that's what first impressions were there for, to create some sort of impact.

That's why Saira wanted people to look at her and feel like the encouragement they gave was natural. Because if they had to put their faith in a future Victor, let that future Victor appear to be a strong, capable fighter. Saira thought about Vance and noted how he seemed almost as determined as she did- almost as composed, almost as _ready. _

He'd be competition, but he seemed nice. Nice would be good, she could work with nice. A boy like Vance would be good to get on her side, because he'd be the sort to not only have influence within the alliance, but also help Saira if things got a little bit out of hand.

She'd work with the group she had, but it'd be good to have back-up. Someone to rely on.

"I think its best you try to get on his good side. The way his father acts, it'd be no surprise to me if he tried to run that alliance you kids are so crazy about."

"The Careers," Saira stated, proud to represent the ideal that had surrounded her entire life.

"Yes, them," her father replied rather flippantly. Saira kept her mouth closed. "If he becomes the leader, I'm pretty sure if you can work your way up to second in command things will work out easier- you'll have respect, but less responsibility. That way when it falls apart, you're safer than he is."

"Smart." Saira pretended not to be shocked, but quite honestly, she'd never pinned her father down to be quite the strategist. She'd already pieced together a rough idea of where she'd place herself within the alliance, though, but it was good to hear some reassurance.

Months of physical training were not enough, she'd studied Games, worked out the traps she refused to fall for. _Why would I volunteer if I hadn't given it my all beforehand? _It's why she was so confident, because she really had done all she could to prepare.

She had the weapon skills. The mental skills. And she knew, when it came down to it, she could swallow down her own pride and be whoever her allies needed her to be.

Those harder to handle would need a girl who wouldn't step over them- and she'd be compliant, because it would save her life.

"I'll do whatever it takes to come home. Don't worry, you didn't a raise a loser."

"We are proud of you, even if this isn't something we ever understood, we really are."

The Carinne family shared one final embrace. Saira watched them leave and sat back down, in the same position she had been when they entered.

More than anything, she was eager to get this started. The wait was the worst thing. But she knew the wait would give her time to think about everything even more than she already had in the first place.

_I'll be the ally my allies need me to be. _And in the process, no one would really know who she was until it was way too late.

It was the best way forward.

And she was ready. Ready to fight, and ready to win.

* * *

><p><strong>Lucian St. Laurent, 17 years old;<br>District Three Male.**

* * *

><p>He kept a straight face when the Peacekeeper let them in.<p>

Both of his parents, prim and proper: father in suit and tie, mother in shirt and skirt, stared down at him. Lucian stared up, face still of emotion.

Already a game had begun. A game to see who would speak first. Lucian hadn't a word to say to these people in front of him- rather, he preferred to just lean back and think to himself as he waited for the officials to escort him to the train.

The shock had died down at least, which was a good thing in his mind. Shock was a little too dramatic for his taste. He preferred this stillness, almost a sense of peace that had washed through him since waiting for anyone to come through the door.

Now that they had, he wished they would turn back and leave. Really, he had nothing to say. Goodbyes were meant to be sentimental. Lucian didn't understand the meaning of the word.

Unfortunately for him, his parents had decided to come here to at least say something to him. When his father straightened up, Lucian refused to give him the satisfaction of slouching, of showing how the reaping might have affected him negatively.

It was still a game, even to this day. Piece against piece. Move against countermove.

"You're here."

Lucian continued to stare. "Yes. I'm here."

"Shame."

"Very."

The two of them stepped forwards but kept enough distance that no one wanted to run away from accidental shows of love. Lucian did feel _something _towards his parents. And he was pretty sure they felt something back- but growing up, he'd desensitized himself to pretty much everything life had.

Except himself, there was little he truly cared for. And himself was a stretch itself. He walked, he talked, he did this, he did that. But now that he was reaped, everything had been shoved into perspective.

That's why he wanted them to leave. He couldn't work out what he was going to do once he was even in the Arena. Not that the whole morality, cry-baby thing would affect him. If he had to kill, he had to kill. But if he actually… wanted to. Felt the desire to. Craved victory. He wasn't sure.

The one thing he did know was, if he did win, it would probably be more to show his parents and everyone that he was capable of it- he knew he could do it, he just wanted others to realise that as well.

"What do you want us to do with your stuff?"

Lucian almost grinned. He felt his lip twitch and shut it down immediately. Crossing his arms round his chest, he tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Sell them. Burn them. Eat them for all I care. When I get back I'll have enough money to buy more than I could ever dream of."

_When I get back. _So he'd decided, without thinking about it, that he did want to come back. _Oh, that's good. _At least he wouldn't let people walk all over him. Family or the other tributes. The line between both was a very thin thing indeed. It didn't matter.

It wasn't like he cared for anyone.

_It'd be nice if they actually did… say it. Say the words parents are supposed to say. _Lucian ignored that disgusting desire. It wasn't him. The need was stupid. Maybe he required them to go for other reasons, so he didn't in fact think that they loved him. Or worse, he didn't start to think he loved them back.

Love was uncharted territory. It scared him, and he didn't do scared.

"So you think you can win?" His father said it like it was impossible. Of course he would.

His mother smiled probably the coldest smile in the history of smiles. Lucian threw it straight back at her, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. It was all in the facial expressions. A look could throw a person off just as effectively as any word or action.

"I think he has what it takes."

_...Really? _Lucian didn't show anything at that, except the same smirk, the same look in his eye. "Thank you mother. So kind to hear you don't think I'll die."

"Everyone dies son."

Both his father and Lucian laughed at the same time. "We'd know all about that wouldn't we?"

"You never liked working for me. Funny that. Our work might just save your life. You know what it's like."

"Not in the way a tribute knows." Lucian strained to keep himself calm. Panic, like fear, like sadness, like love, like everything felt so foreign to him it made his stomach uneasy. But now, through actually thinking and talking about it, the desire to win meant he had to give it his all.

And Lucian, despite how far he hid behind what his face and his words gave off, felt like he didn't know which line he was prepared to cross.

He didn't care, he really didn't. But kicking himself into trying hard would be difficult. One thing he couldn't discredit his parents for was the lifestyle they'd given him.

He was used to having pretty much everything.

Before he could really think of what to say back, the knock on the door ended everything. Lucian sat in the chair and kept the goodbye on the tip of his tongue, before swallowing it back down.

_No. _That's not what the St. Laurent family did. They did not say goodbye.

"Try not to embarrass yourself. Or us."

His mother said nothing, turning to leave first. Lucian kept his eyes locked on his father's until he broke the stare and moved to follow his wife.

"Good chatting to you."

When the door closed, he sunk back into the cushion and sighed.

_That went well. _He expected less, if he was honest. At least they'd spoken to each other. Now that he was left alone, though, things were sinking in, thoughts about winning, about killing, about what he was prepared to do.

He'd played a game all his life, moving against his enemies.

This was a bigger game on a much larger scale.

But he knew, if he actually tried, he could do it. _So I'll try, how hard can it be?_

* * *

><p><strong>Tymas Romain, 17 years old;<br>District Eight Male.**

* * *

><p>He could feel himself shaking. Once his family disappeared out of the door, he settled back and took a deep breath. <em>One… two… three… calm down, calm down. <em>It worked well enough.

When the door re-opened and his friends walked in, he tried to put as cheery a smile as he could onto his face. The result was a weird twitch of the lip, up and down, and then his face settled into the same depressed emotion that had thwarted any attempt at trying to appear accepting of what had happened.

Honestly, he wasn't. He was scared shitless.

"Guess my face wants to kill me."

Callie strode on in with tears lighting up her pretty eyes. She was tiny, but easily fit into Tymas' outstretched arms. "Now you know how we feel having to look at it every day." Her laugh was forced. For the first time, Tymas could hear the pain thickening her throat and tried to swallow the lump that drowned out any attempt at speaking.

Luckily for him, he had this hug to focus on. This hug. It mattered more to him than anything, and over her shoulder, Corbel stood there with his eyes widened, his lip trembling, and all Tymas could do was extend his arm and wave him over.

"Get in 'ere." He choked back a sob. Once Corbel had flung himself into the embrace, Tymas slammed his eyes shut. _One… two… three. _He was with his friends. They were hugging. He loved them- both of them, more than anything. And he was saying goodbye.

_I don't want to say goodbye… _He kept his arms relaxed round them, refusing to let emotion tense him up. Nothing he felt would ruin this moment. He didn't cry. He didn't sob. Instead he focused on soothing Callie's quiet tears, and the weird clacking noises Corbel's tongue was making as he tried to piece together a sentence.

Tymas shook his head. "Don't. I know… I know…" Because he did know. He knew they would miss him. He knew he'd miss them too. More than anything, he'd miss just having two people to be with, two people he could act like a teenager around and just enjoy being seventeen years old.

It wouldn't last forever and that commitment to responsibility terrified Tymas. He was a kid. Pulling apart everything Panem made his family do, the choices they had to make, the fight they had to endure; when he stripped it all back he was a seventeen year old boy who had his friends, liked a party, enjoyed a drink, and had fun.

Now he had none of that. It was all taken from him. The attempt at a normal life, gone. He'd kill to have it back. Literally. _I'm going to have to kill other people. My age. People like my friends maybe. Normal, everyday kids who want to see their friends and family just as much as I do._

When the first tear slipped down his nose, he broke apart the embrace. He refused to let them see him break down- he didn't do that. He wavered between both sides of emotion, finding the right balance by appearing as the chilled guy you wanted to be around.

Neither of them noticed the tear and for that he was grateful. Both were doing enough crying of their own- he wouldn't burden them by breaking down as well.

"I don't want you to die…" Callie swayed on the spot. Corbel noticed it and caught her as she started to fall. It hurt Tymas more than he cared for, seeing such a light-hearted girl, the girl with the loudest laugh he'd ever heard, in such a state.

_Because of me. _He felt guilty. The fact he even felt guilt made him want to burst out laughing. He was the one sentenced to death and he felt like he was in the wrong because he was hurting his friends. It was a kind of pain he wanted to heal, but the only way he would heal it is if he lived and he wasn't sure if he could do that.

He would try, looking at Corbel soothing Callie with gentle words in her ear, the determination that flooded through him was almost paralyzing. It meant too much, seeing them together, to just give up and let someone stab him. Or cut his head off. Or skin him. _Cheery, aren't I? _He grinned, before letting that fall completely.

He wanted to laugh, but again, felt bad for thinking this was a good time to express that sort of emotion, especially when the girl famous for laughing couldn't find it in herself to try.

"Guys," Tymas finally moved forwards and bent down to look at them all. He could at least try to give them hope, because if he gave them hope, then maybe he'd believe it himself. "Don't give up on me yet, alright?"

"But it's… I mean… Tymas, there are so many other tributes. So many…" Corbel struggled to get words out properly.

Tymas felt scared, thinking about it. Of course he should feel scared. Instead he smiled at his friend as warmly as he could. "One of them has to come out right? Who says it can't be me?"

"You really think you can do it?" Callie spoke up, wiping away the tears, her entire face red and blotchy.

_Maybe. _But he nodded, because their emotions meant a great deal to him, and he'd always been better at sorting out other people than himself. It was just the way he was. "If I can handle you two, I can handle anything."

Both laughed and reached out to cling to him. Sadly, at that exact moment, the door opened. Callie burst out into tears again and Tymas, as hard as it was, as impossible as it seemed, bit his lip and looked up to blink away the tears. "Callie, please. Come on. You'll see me again… I promise…"

Corbel helped her up. At that moment, before any of them were forced to leave, they hugged again. Callie gave him a kiss on the cheek, Corbel doing the same on the other one. He followed them to the door, keeping his eyes on the pair of them until it had fully closed.

_Damn… _Tymas fell to the carpet and pulled his knees to his chest.

No tears came. Because he still refused to let himself break.

If he broke, that'd be it. He doubted he'd be able to pull himself together. And he'd made a promise to his friends that he would win and come back.

He wasn't about to break it anytime soon. He'd fight, he'd kill, and he'd win.

* * *

><p><strong>Therese Chaney, 16 years old;<br>District Eleven Female.**

* * *

><p>Much to Therese's relief, she was finding it easier than she thought to hold herself together.<p>

Even when her family peeked their heads through the crack in the door, huddled together, teary-eyed, frail, Therese tried to keep smiling.

"You came…" when they finally entered, she ran up to them and threw her arms round their shoulders. Her younger brother started to thrash against her leg. Therese giggled as she pulled away and bent down to level her eyes with his.

He wasn't too young, but then again, the conditions they lived in hadn't given him much space to grow. His skin was awfully pale. His eyes sunken. Her entire family looked on the brink of death. Therese continued to smile, even when she felt like crying at the way her brother had tears running down his flushed cheeks, dripping to the carpet at their feet.

"Hey don't cry, y'know me. Y'know I have a real shot."

Brannon nodded, but his heart wasn't in it. Therese could feel their lack of energy, but more importantly, their lack of faith. It made her want to scream because she knew she couldn't do this, but that didn't change the fact she would try.

Try, try, _try. _That's all someone in her position, from her District, with her body, could hope for. It didn't lower her spirits, at least outwardly, she refused to let them see how much this was straining on her. The smile grew harder to keep up with each second that passed.

She'd always been a confident woman, the oddity amongst the depressive Chaney family. The girl who could at least look at their miserable lives and try to shove it away, if only to live her childhood and teenage years the way they were meant to be lived.

No one else really saw it that way. And now she was here, their hollow eyes were agonising to look at because she was seeing so much truth in them. _Have I been fooling myself all this time, wasting my life…?_

"I know you'll make it back," Brannon's voice snapped her out from her thoughts. She was relieved, again. Because if she thought too much, then maybe she'd lose whatever might have given her the chance to at least give it her best shot.

That chance was really all that she could use in the Arena.

"If you know it, then they should just give me the crown." She laughed and wrapped him up tight, her parents standing behind him, watching their two children hug the stress and pain away. Both Chaney kids closed their eyes tight and let the moment sink in- wash through them. It hurt when she had to let go, but she did have to let go, otherwise she'd never move on and focus.

"Any last minutes words of advice?" Therese asked her parents, smiling.

They tried to copy their daughter's look and on their faces, it just didn't work. Nothing ever would brighten up their lives. _Unless I come back. _Maybe that was yet another incentive to give it her all. Because if she came back, maybe she could give them a life they deserved- to pay back her parents for everything they'd given her, even when it wasn't a lot.

"You've always been yourself. Therese this, Therese that. Even when we told you otherwise… told you to believe that…" Her mother closed her lips, blinking back tears. When she opened her mouth, she struggled to speak, but powered through the quiver in her jaw. "I'm proud that you… you didn't listen to us. You're a strong girl. Don't lose that."

It did Therese a world of good to hear those words. Girls from Eleven, or any District that weren't raised around the Games, could never fully believe in themselves. Not totally. Life had pressures a teenager should never, at their age, have to face.

But with some support, it was enough motivation. Therese felt like she was about to cry, but they were happier tears than they might have been had they said nothing and let her get on with it.

She didn't want to go, didn't want to leave them. She loved her brother. Her parents. Her friends who would probably show up afterwards. And she knew, when she was in the Capitol, it'd be hard on her.

Despite whatever they thought of her, Therese struggled to envision herself becoming what she had seen so many times on the television.

Killing, the blood, the… destruction. Not many kids her age could face that. _But I have to. _She looked at her younger brother and tried to use the way he glanced up at his big sister, a sister about to leave him, as a source to persuade her to swallow down whatever she didn't want to do and focus more on the fact she had to.

"I'll do everything I can… everything…"

"I know you will," her father said, gripping onto her shoulder. "You're our daughter. We know you've got it in you."

They hugged one last time, but Therese knew this was it. Seconds after Brannon wrapped his arms round her, the door was opened and her family were called out. They all said one final goodbye, a goodbye that earlier might have sounded permanent, but now she felt their hope.

There might not be any future for her, but she watched her family's backs, the people she loved, and nodded her head. The smile had gone. But that didn't mean she didn't feel like the same girl she'd always been.

_I'm going to do this. _It'd be no walk in the park, but that's a thing people like her, people from the outer Districts had over the privileged. They'd struggled, and the Games were one big struggle.

It'd be hard, but that was life, it was always hard.

She was prepared to do whatever it took. Anything and everything to make it home to her family.

To win the Hunger Games.

* * *

><p><strong>So, another update? Wow, yeah I didn't expect myself to write so much this week. <strong>

**I understand the fast updates might make it hard to keep up with reviewing, and I appreciate everyone who has reviewed so far. If you could comment, especially if you did submit, that would mean a lot. Especially since earlier chapters, a lot more of you were around, so I'm not sure where you've all gone ;P**

**Anyway, only one more chapter to go and we move onto the Capitol! I'm excited :D**


	8. Hateful Love

**Chapter Eight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Goodbyes, Part Two.<strong>

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><p><strong>Rhaella Cresswell, 18 years old;<br>District Four Female.**

* * *

><p>Everyone but her father had left the room. He had his hand on the door, his head twisted to give one last, long, furrowed stare in the direction of his only daughter.<p>

"Lose, you know what will happen. I won't have another disappointment."

It was with him, Rhaella felt the gravity of her entire life forcing her into the floor, like a puddle of her insecurities because of this man she so despised. But all she could do was nod, with a polite smile, and a gracious look in her eye.

"Of course father. Believe me. I've been doing everything I can to make sure nothing will ever embarrass you again." _No, I've been embarrassing you in other ways. Oh, how I hate you. _

"Good. I'll see you in a few weeks." He closed the door without another word, leaving a heavy, painful silence in the air.

"Yeah you will," Rhaella muttered to the empty room, relaxing in the chair now he wasn't anywhere near her, "and then I can finally get the fuck away from you."

The moment Devina and Alecton replaced a presence she wanted no part of, Rhaella immediately felt the tension leave her body. A piece of her long, blonde, flowing hair made its way into her hand and she twirled it round one finger, winking at the boy before her, and giggling at the eyebrow rise from her cousin.

"How'd it go?" Devina asked, perched near to Rhaella's knees.

"The bastard gave me the whole _don't embarrass me like your brother _speech again." She rolled her eyes and waved it off, like it didn't affect her. Because in front of her friends, nothing would. She refused to be the kind of person that would let others in so far deep they could see the cracks corrupting a girl that strove to be perfect in every way.

She _did _want this. Very much. Training had been important in her life, but it was more important in her father's eyes, so important he'd kill anyone to ensure his daughter behaved. A man with his influence had power. She had her own, though. A power only a female possessed.

"Alecton, you're awfully quiet," she puckered her lips, leaning forwards. It was no mistake when she chose to wear a shirt with three of the buttons undone. His eyes widened and a flush crept into his cheeks. Devina on his side rolled her eyes and laughed. Both girls were natural at this, and both girls had been with Alecton countless times, it didn't bother either party.

Why not use what you had, as a teenager, it wouldn't last forever. Life was too good, especially if you were attractive.

"I-I was…" he gulped, tugging at his collar and smirking. "I was thinking about how to offer my congratulations."

"A kiss?" She stood up and wrapped her arms round his shoulders, pecking his nose, then his two cheeks, and pulling away just as his eyes closed and he leaned forwards. "Nuh-uh. Later. When I'm back."

"I swear you go between two emotions. Annoying and horny." Devina pushed her way between the two, glancing over at an embarrassed Alecton and then at her cousin.

Rhaella shrugged her shoulders. Truthfully, she was just doing whatever she could to get her father and her deceased brother out of her mind. Her mother had no say in anything she did, and her younger brother was an annoying bastard, so what he thought didn't matter.

No, honestly it was him and him alone. It helped she wanted this and her friends supported her, but what would life have been like if his iron fist had been made out of something else? Like plastic. If he actually knew how to raise a daughter in a way that didn't involve threatening to kill anyone that got in the way of training.

She looked at her cousin, then at Alecton, and hid her frown behind a dazzling smile. The kind of smile that would win her the Capitol's affection, and more importantly, her allies' affection. Tristian Fortier would crumble eventually, all boys did.

"I'm trying to have a good time, Devina." Rhaella pushed her away, laughing. "Liven up."

"I'm just… well, no I'm not scared. But worried. You're going into a place with people just like you."

Rhaella pouted. "No one's like me."

Alecton nodded, his eyes glancing once at her chest, once at her legs, and then back into her eyes. "Too true, too true."

"Do all you boys literally think with your dicks, I'm trying to help her? Back the fuck off." Devina snapped at Alecton. He looked hurt. But Devina, with her back to their male friend, grinned playfully. They'd make up the second they left, with a kiss and maybe a little more if he was lucky.

She'd get none in the Capitol, but she had one thing right. Boys did in fact think with what was between their legs. And lucky for Rhaella, she was the very thing they wanted most.

If she gave them that, they'd be putty in her hands. She might not win it the way her father would want her to, he'd look at their television set and probably blow up knowing his precious little daughter had _assets _that weren't just a sword and two fists.

But whatever it took to win, Rhaella would do it. Her body. Her mind. Everything. It was all at her disposal. Why not use it?

"Devina, I love you alright." Rhaella hugged her, closing her eyes. _Because I do, you're my cousin, my best friend… I don't want him to hurt you… _"I'm not some cheap whore off the street. Or some lousy idiot who can't tell a spear from a bow. I know what I'm doing, okay? Believe me," she pulled away, punching her in the shoulder, "I got this."

Devina nodded her head, smiling. "Course you do. You're Rhaella."

"That's right."

_And there's only one me. _

Rhaella Cresswell. The future Victor.

* * *

><p><strong>Chip Flexan, 16 years old;<br>District Five Male.**

* * *

><p>The wait was agonizing, but Chip complied. He was the good boy, the patient boy, the boy who smiled as the Peacekeeper closed the door. But the wait was excruciating. He wanted it to start. He wanted this whole charade to end.<p>

Standing on a chariot, training when no one would be able to really learn anything in such a short time, and then those godforsaken interviews. _What a pile of crap, _he thought, scowling in his chair. If anything, he wanted to throw the piece of furniture he sat on into the wall, anything to waste the amount of time that had to pass.

He looked at the clock, but like it always seemed to do, it dragged on and on. Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes like the hour he got before being taken to the train.

First, though, he knew they'd come. And he knew what they wanted to see.

His mother, the Mayor of District Five, of course, opened the door and her grim face immediately made Chip want to roll his eyes. Instead he smiled graciously, without being too happy. After all, he had just been reaped. A kid who had just been reaped would not come across like he was _excited, _no, he'd come across scared. Chip had never given off that kind of negative emotion anyway.

So he let his small smile, and then the twitch in his cheek, do the talking. It was enough. His mother strode in, and despite their lack of any form of connection, pulled him up and pressed her poor darling son into the closest form of affection he believed they'd ever shared.

"Mother, honestly. I'm fine-" he let his voice falter, before swallowing a fake lump down, shaking his head. "Honestly. Don't worry. It'll… work out the way it's supposed to. You know these things always do."

When they pulled away, he touched her cheek. She wasn't crying, but she definitely looked shocked. It was rather absurd to see his mother show anything but contempt for her son. All his life, since his father had taken his own way out of this world, she'd seen him as a constant reminder of the man she lost.

_He _was the one who found the body, though. _Me, I saw my dad, dead. Hanging there. _He held back what he really wanted to say, like he always did, because he had to. Not just because he had to be the Chip everyone knew him as, but because feeling like he was losing control made him want to ball his hands into fists and punch his mother in her stupid, emotional, ugly face.

He took a deep breath. His mother looked none the wiser. Of course, everything going through his head was fear about being the chosen tribute, fear about having to kill, fear about dying. That's what she interpreted by the way he remained silent, brow furrowed, with a small smile on his face to cover everything up.

It was funny, though, to see his mother go through a whole range of emotions over her life, culminating in this fascinating display. If only he had the time to really focus in on it, work why, what, how and everything that encompassed her show of affection for a son she'd all but abandoned.

He didn't have that time. He knew, come the Capitol, he would. Time to be with the other poor sods sitting in their chairs, saying goodbye to their mothers, and wishing to be anywhere but on their way to the Capitol.

Chip would miss Five for totally different reasons. Reasons no one would understand. Reasons no one suspected.

"I know we've never seen eye to eye," he started, looking down, ashamed. "But you've always worked so hard. And you have so much responsibility. I understand. It never made me love you less."

"Chip… I-I…" she shook her head and lowered her gaze, avoiding eye contact. He stepped forwards and tilted her chin, looking at his mother. She saw a smile on his face, a smile in his eyes.

"I should have tried harder. But it was always difficult. Still, that's no excuse. No excuse for being a bad mother to a wonderful son."

_Wonderful indeed. In a very, very different way everyone thinks, mother. _

She touched his cheek and Chip hugged her again. That's all it was, them standing there, hugging. His mother holding him as tight as she could, scared to let him go. And Chip, wanting to pull away because he hated this feeling, this emotion she was showing, but also wanting to stay in the embrace because it was so… interesting.

She really did love him. He felt almost guilty for not feeling like the love was mutual, because it wasn't. He didn't hate the woman, she was his mother, but like everyone else, she was just a means to an end. Friends were a funny ideal, just as much as calling this woman a parent.

He had no family. No friends. But everyone believed he did. He was awfully good at making people believe what he wanted them to.

It's why the Capitol would want him to live. Because of the show he'd give them all.

"You're a Flexan. You have your father's strength-" _Oh yeah, so strong. What a strong man to abandon his wife and son_ -"and a way with words that'll give you a real shot. We all believe in you. Five has your back, son."

"Thanks mother, I really appreciate it."

Honestly, he didn't. But he guessed it was good enough to know they'd be cheering his name until they saw what he could do. When they saw that, he was pretty sure they'd want the little girl to win instead of him. But she'd die in the bloodbath because she was just that, a bloodbath waiting to happen.

But he wasn't. _I'm not. _"I'm going to come back and we'll make things right."

"We will Chip," she kissed him on the forehead, "we will."

They wouldn't. No one would want to see his face when he returned, after what he was prepared to do.

It was brilliant.

* * *

><p><strong>Sherina Harney, 16 years old;<br>District Seven Female.**

* * *

><p>Sherina sat with her hands gripped to the underside of the chair, tapping her feet, looking at the carpet, then at the door, and then up at the ceiling. Every inch of her body felt like it was on haywire, her nerves frantic, her thoughts whizzing through one ear and out of the next at a million miles an hour.<p>

But the one thing she could pin down, like a red light flashing for attention in the front of her face, was the fact she was… terrified. Absolutely, without a doubt, terrified.

She didn't hide anything. Not her emotions. Not to herself when no one was around. So it was why she couldn't keep still, because the fear was a living, breathing nightmare that bore so much weight on her shoulders she felt like her bones might snap.

_Breathe… in, out… in, out. _Nothing was working, not until the door at least clicked open and a distraction presented itself. Sherina's eyes glanced up, blown wide as a few tears peppered her eyelashes. There, in front of her, were her family.

The last time she'd see them- or the last time she believed she'd see them. Maybe they thought she'd come home, which meant she had to at least give them a sense of belief to cling to, right? _I can't… hurt them, like I'm hurting now. _

Or maybe it was stupid to think about others in a time like this. Sherina sat in the chair with her nails practically scratching splinters out of the chair, fidgeting as her mother, her elder sister, and her niece stepped forwards to stand in front of her, all gazing down with sad, teary eyes.

Or at least she thought they were tears. No one was actually crying. Everyone was holding it back for the sake of either the others around them, or the fact they didn't actually… feel sad. She was thankful, in a way, they weren't being so overbearing.

That way she wouldn't have to lie to calm them down. Because she would have done that, over and over. Lie upon lie so she felt better about herself, better that her family weren't weeping messes of tears on the carpet.

"This shouldn't have happened," her sister said, shaking her head. If it were that easy to simply forget about the fact it had happened, that forgetting meant she could go home, Sherina would be back in their awful shack in a heartbeat.

But she wasn't, she was here. And mixed in with the fear that continued to shoot painful spikes every which way in her body, was the anger. The anger that it had happened to her and not someone else. And then the guilt, because by saying that, she was wishing death on someone else. A stranger. Or a friend. Someone she knew, and it made Sherina even more upset. And then grateful, because she had this fate and not someone else.

And then, again the anger. Because, honestly, those people she _cared _about, were… acquaintances really. She had people she knew, people that knew her back. But when it boiled down to who she really cared about, it came to these people in front of her. And by the way they just stood there, she could tell even that was a stretch too far.

She loved them, but she didn't feel… _in_ love with them. It was the saddest truth she had to admit to herself.

"Do you think you'll make it back…?" Robin said, with her cute little eyes full of hope. Maybe she was the only one too oblivious to sense the tension, sense the emotion, sense the fact that they were literally hanging by a thread from catastrophe. Sherina was doing everything she could not to explode in their faces. Because her nails were still digging into the chair, and her feet were still tapping.

It was hard to distract herself. Maybe the hardest thing she'd ever had to do: keep it all in.

"Someone has to," she smiled, forcing an expression that conflicted against everything she really felt. A smile was the last thing she wanted to give, but it would please her niece, and through this all, that was also important to her. Pleasing those around her. Because if she was pleasing them, it would occupy them. Keep them out of her hair.

Again, the guilt. Again she felt like she hated herself for thinking like that. But it didn't stop her from thinking like that. _Maybe I really think too much… going over this, going over that. It never stops._

"Make allies. That's important you know, I see it happen all the time. We all do." Her mother said, for once actually calm. There was a twitch in her jaw, but that was about it. She wasn't exploding into tears like she might have done, or throwing a fist into the wall, or smiling in that dazed, confused way she sometimes did.

The one occasion Sherina felt like the cracks were only cracking further, her mother decided to be… normal. _Ironic, huh?_

"I can do that," Sherina nodded, however. It gave her a moment of relief, a momentary distraction. It was the one thing she was good at. Being around other people, people were that distraction she was finding so blissful right now. A distraction she was content to make work. They would see a girl that knew how to fit in, because it was the girl Sherina would always be.

She couldn't do this alone. She wouldn't.

"They'll like you for sure," Robin took her hand. Sherina reacted by giving it a squeeze- first contact since being reaped. Since being hauled to the death. It made her feel surprisingly empty.

"Course they will, I'll do my best." As they stood there, in an uncomfortable silence, mixed in with forced goodbyes, fake promises and false hope, Sherina thought through everything that was in her future.

How she'd act, what she'd do. Plan this, plan that. Maybe if she overthought things, like she had done since she'd pretty much got here, a coherent thought that would help her win would surface somewhere.

She looked back up, not noticing her eyes had fallen to the carpet.

Her family were gone.

"Oh," Sherina breathed out. Then the first tear fell. Then the second.

They didn't stop until another knock on the door. Until it was time to go.

* * *

><p><strong>Lazaro Aden, 17 years old;<br>District Ten Male.**

* * *

><p>If he could turn back time, he would. Again and again.<p>

Lazaro looked at the clock, then at the ground, and finally at the door. His family had just left him after perhaps what he'd call the worst moment of his life. Having to say goodbye to them… he'd never felt anything like that.

And it would only get worse in a few days time.

As he waited for someone else, anyone else to come, Lazaro thought over and over what he could have said to his family. What he _should _have said. Maybe it had gone well, but he still felt like there were better ways he could have expressed his emotions. Better ways to cheer up his parents, seeing them cry made him angry- seeing them cry knowing it was because of this shitty situation and their tears would only intensify as they saw him in the Arena.

He kicked out furiously and sank back into the chair, frowning. He hadn't cried yet, but he definitely felt like he should. If they came, he wouldn't hold them back. Not because he valued vulnerability, but because he refused to be fake. Someone he wasn't.

If he was going to cry, he would let everyone see. It was a normal reaction. Tears from a boy sentenced to die.

Finally, the door did open again, and Lazaro bolted right up, flinging himself into his best friend's arms before she had fully turned round. It took the breath from her and she staggered back, knocking the door closed. Lazaro didn't care. It was good to see her. He didn't… he couldn't… he _wouldn't _let her go.

"I'm… I don't know what to say." He breathed into her shoulder, shaking. He was terrified.

"Then say nothing."

So they didn't. Minutes flew by and they stood there, hugging. Rasia ignored the fact it felt like he was crushing her ribs- because this was it, maybe their last hug ever. No one wanted to sugar-coat the fact that his chances were practically pointless to consider. Sure, he was strong. Sure, Lazaro knew, no matter the circumstance, no matter who or what he had to face, he'd give it his all. Anything to come back.

But what didn't change, no matter how much enthusiasm he'd give it, the dedication to fighting for his life, was the fact the chances still sucked. His chances of dying were so much higher than his chances of living.

He wanted to scream. Punch something. If he knew it wouldn't result in anything bad, that Peacekeeper out there, or the prissy, uptight, frilly, ignorant moron who pulled his name… they'd be good targets for his bottled up rage.

"You're shaking."

_Maybe I'm not hiding it as well as I thought. _He pulled back and frowned, then smiled, trying to ease the tension just a little. He'd never exactly been the best guy at conveying his emotions in the right way – sensing when to stop, his limits, what other people wanted.

He was just… himself. And he hated that it might not be good enough to keep him alive.

"I feel like there's two sides to how I see this and they're both pushing to get out. It's painful."

Rasia took his hand, shaking her head. "What are they both saying?"

"The chances suck so I'm dead. Screw the chances, you can do this. You're Lazaro Aden. Since when did you give up?"

"And which one are you going to listen to?" Rasia's voice was surprisingly calm for a girl that usually refused to keep her mouth shut. Lazaro admired that in her. Both of them were never the quietest people around, mainly because they always had a word to give, an opinion to share. Even in a situation where maybe peace was the better option.

"Well the chances do suck…"

"And they sucked just as much at the reaping. The odds of your name being drawn," Rasia made a noise, like it was ridiculous, like it should have been impossible he had been chosen. "They happened, so obviously chances don't mean that much."

"I…" he faltered, frowning. Lazaro's eyes trailed to the ground. _Maybe she's right. _He'd always been confident enough to get through life with a certain… hope. Other people saw it, some loved it, some hated it.

"You're my best friend, and if I know my best friend like I think I do, he's not gonna back down until he's made it all the way to the end." Rasia grinned, raising her eyebrows as if waiting for him to cheer himself on, smile, fist-pump the air. Lazaro didn't feel like that. Not quite. But he had to admit, he felt a little better… he felt like himself.

"I just don't want you guys, you and my parents, to see me… do what I have to do."

Rasia touched his arm. "You have to."

"It's not that simple Rasia," Lazaro snapped. She flinched. He immediately went red, guilt swarmed the faint sense of anger that must have been deep down mixed with the sorrow, the anguish, but also the slight sensation of hope that had always been a part of him.

"I'm sorry… I didn't-"

"You're going to the Hunger Games. Shout at me all you want. Throw that goddamn ugly chair into the window, I don't care. You deserve it."

Lazaro laughed, sighing. "It is a pretty ugly chair."

"The ugliest."

They hugged again. Rasia would miss her best friend, but Lazaro knew that if she thought he could do it, there wasn't really anything stopping him from believing it too. She was right, one hundred percent. The chances of him being the one stood here, hugging someone he loved, were so small that it shouldn't have happened.

The chances of him winning were horrible, but not as bad as the chances of him being reaped. So he could do it. He would do it.

The anger was still there, but in some ways, Lazaro's smiles and attitude had always had a hint of anger present, because he had every right to be angry. If he could use it in a productive way, adapt, fit in… fight, then he had a good shot at making it to the finish line.

"See you in a few weeks, alright." He gave her one last squeeze, savouring the moment, before she turned to go.

"Do what you have to do."

He would.

Even if it hurt beyond anything, he would. Anything to see her face. Anything to say he did do it. He did win the Hunger Games.

* * *

><p><strong>And here we are, the last pre-Capitol chapter! Every tribute has now been introduced. Now that you've seen everyone, there's a poll on my profile asking for your favourite tributes. It asks for six, so please actually vote for six xD<strong>

**Maybe now you've seen everyone you can make those charts that are all popular, y'know, like/neutral etc, just so I have some rough overall idea from each person!**

**Anyway, see you all with the train rides!**


	9. Masquerade

**Chapter Nine.**

* * *

><p><strong>Train Rides.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Vance Seymour, 18 years old;<br>District One Male.**

* * *

><p>They'd decided to sit together- united. Maybe it was a display. Or maybe, Vance thought, looking at the three girls around him, District One had a chance of really working together.<p>

He hoped so, it would be easier that way. Less strings to pull. He could actually be himself, not the kind of person he knew he _should _be, but didn't _want _to be.

"So, tell me who you both are." Bronte, his own mentor, twirled a piece of her dirty blonde hair round one finger, smiling at the two of them. Tallis had her own grin on her face. It was quite comedic actually, him and Saira one side of the booth, and them on the other, almost competing who could seem the most approachable. The nicest.

At least they weren't rude mentors. He hated rude. It was overwhelming.

"I'm Saira Carinne, and this is Vance Seymour."

He laughed. "I can say my own name, but thanks Saira."

She sent him a look- but like the entire table, she had her own way of showing happiness in the form of a small smirk. But he could see something in her eyes, something a bit different to their mentors. She was one to watch definitely, outwardly she laughed and played along, inwardly she… hid a truth that he had to get out.

Luckily for him, he had plenty of secrets, so he was good at getting other people to tell their own. He knew what it felt like, the burden of being a good person when it felt like your head was fit to explode. He knew how to alleviate it in someone else. Saira could be easier to get on his side than he originally thought, if he played his cards right.

"That's all well and good. Your names are very pretty, sophisticated, whatever your parents say to cheer you up. But I want to know who you really are. What makes you think you, over the person sitting next to you, can win."

"Come on Bronte, they've only just got on the train. Give them time to settle." Tallis chastised the younger girl in a way he remembered his own parents- his mother, mainly-talking to him. His father would just shout. At least his mother had it in her to be nice but stern in the right way.

"Saira, ladies first," Vance said, nodding his head courteously.

She raised an eyebrow but proceeded anyway. Maybe she enjoyed to hear her own voice- it wouldn't be the first time he'd met a girl so self-absorbed they thought the world rotated around them. "Well, as nice as Vance is, and I'm sure he's a brilliant person to be around." She paused to let the compliment sink in, maybe.

Vance appreciated it, but didn't totally buy it. If she was lying to get on his good side, then they were both playing the same game. It was quite interesting, if dangerous. Who'd be the first to crack and fall, that was where the real fun lied. Vance was scared, but confident in himself.

After all, a Seymour boy would always be confident in himself no matter the circumstance. Being surrounded by three beautiful women didn't change that. In fact, it gave him a peculiar sense of self-confidence he'd rarely felt before.

"But, me, well… I think it's not just about presentation, which I know is key. But also about the actions. And I think, from what I can gather from Vance with all due respect, the inward performance won't quite match up to the outward."

…_Thanks. _He laughed, clapping his hand on the table. "Oh believe me Saira, it certainly does. But thank you for that glowing character reference. I'll be sure to keep you close by for a nice ego boost."

"Any time," Saira grinned, sarcastically.

She definitely was hiding herself, her true self. Vance could tell by the way her eyes were so carefully narrowed, the way her laugh was a little too forced, or her shoulders too stiff. She was certainly calm and composed, two traits he respected, but like him, truths were lurking under the surface. And she hid them behind her own confidence.

He understood that. He respected that.

"My turn?" Bronte nodded, Tallis rolled her eyes when the younger mentor wasn't looking at her. Clearly she was used to this, Bronte seemed a little too excited to prove she was smarter than she looked. Pleasant, if irritating.

"Okay, so where do I start," he smirked, leaning back. "Nah, don't worry I'm not like that. So, if you haven't heard of the Seymour family before, then I'll be a bit shocked. Not to inflate my own father's head any more than it is, but he's a bit big in One. I think, what sets me above the beautiful Saira, is the fact that what I can actually give outwardly, exceeds what I have within."

He saw Saira turn her head, and in the reflection of the window, roll her eyes. He almost called her out on it, but bit down on his tongue. Let her think what she wanted.

He didn't do this for her. He did this for him. They both had different ideas of strength, both hid for different reasons. That's why she'd be interesting to follow. Their contrast in opinion could be both hindering, and beneficial to the alliance they would bring together.

"It's good to have the determination, but if say I had a little less than Saira – which I don't by the way – I can _act _like I do, and the act soon becomes the truth, and when the truth is you have the most determination, than you do in fact make it further because you're living up to a target you've set yourself." Bronte and Tallis grinned. And Saira, well, Vance could see her bristling in her seat. Not enjoying the fact it seemed, in the most subtle of ways, they were leaning towards him.

It was kind of fun.

"I can be the Victor the Capitol wants. I can give them what they want. Inwardly as Saira pointed out, but outwardly. Because you can think about being happy, but showing you're happy by smiling and getting the Capitol to like you?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I think it's clear which is the better option."

He was.

Vance was.

Out of him and Saira, as much as he didn't want her to dislike him, he had to be the better choice going forwards. If they saw potential in him, he'd live up to it. He always enjoyed exceeding expectations, so if they were set high, he'd beat them and end up victorious.

And Saira, sadly, would end up dead.

It was the way it worked.

Winners got it all, losers lost everything. And Vance had always been a winner.

It was in his blood.

* * *

><p><strong>Holly Branwell, 17 years old;<br>District Six Female.**

* * *

><p>It was slightly off-putting to have her mentor stare at her, unrelenting, as she sat with her arms crossed next to the right window.<p>

Holly pretended he wasn't there, instead focusing on the green and brown blurs that sped past her, flickering colours like a heartbeat, constant. She liked it. Being away from Six. She was almost excited, _almost. _

Holly wasn't feeling anything but confidence in herself, however that didn't make her stupid. She could die. She could never see her family, or Leah, or anyone ever again. And she refused to let that happen. If she had to cry, if she had to act like an idiot, or act like a super loyal rainbow-vomiting imbecile, she would.

Because she loved her home too much to let it go. It was painful knowing she knew no one here- and what was worse, they didn't know her. They had no respect for her. She'd have to earn it. She hated that.

"So, you're a crier?" Finally, Azarih spoke up. His voice was gentle. Holly appreciated it after the barrage of volume from Blaine, who had now resorted to huddling up like a ball near the television. His own mentor was nowhere to be seen, which was strange, but good. At least she had hers. It was an advantage she appreciated.

"Oh," Holly breathed out, smiling. "Well, it was all a bit much you know. I guess it just got to me."

His stare was sympathetic, but his smirk told another story. What did he see? Holly was curious more than anything. If he saw a Victor. Or if he saw a bloodbath. She hoped for the former.

"I cried. And I won. So don't let it get you down, people react in a whole host of different ways."

"I just don't want to die." She frowned, sinking into the warm cushion propping her up in the chair. "It's just so… scary."

It was, Holly thought. Scary. Terrifying. But still, exciting. An adventure, of sorts. A competition. A game. She loved games. In Six, school and all the other girls presented their own sort of game that she was more than willing to match up to. And she always did, of course. Her and Leah owned a part of Six that not many people could contest with.

Be it held through smiles, or held through insults. Or even held through a well-timed lie or punch, she'd always had _power. _

"What are you thinking, Holly?" Azarih stood up to join her at her table, curiously placing his hands in front of him. Holly smiled again. Of course she wouldn't tell him. She didn't want to put him off. Whilst he might appreciate a girl like her, a fighter, a girl willing to be whoever she had to be to get a step up above the competition, he might not like the way she was prepared to act.

And she refused to put him off. He was a lifeline too good to give up.

"I'm thinking that… allies are important. I've never done well with being alone." She said, truthfully. It had always been a fact of her life. People were just too good to pass up. And there'd be new faces, new personalities, new dreams and wishes she'd come across tomorrow and until the very end.

Another part of the excitement factor that diluted the fear to a watery substance that she barely felt anymore.

"Hm," Azarih nodded. "Very true. Allies are important. And if you know you can't function alone, then I wouldn't put you off that. What scares me Holly is the fact you said you've never done well with being alone, because…" he smiled sadly, leaning forwards a bit to level his eyes with Holly's, "…victors are alone. Only one can win. It's a loneliness no one will understand until you learn how to control it."

_Please… _She wanted to roll her eyes. But in the end, it was good advice for the girl she was being, the girl he thought she was. It was funny how the truth was blending with lies- she did like people, she'd never functioned all that well alone, but she could do it without others. That's what he doubted.

It was good to have apparent weaknesses, though. Weakness could be endearing. And people like Azarih seemed drawn to the fact he could help someone, a strain of morality she hoped several of the tributes had within themselves as well.

It was all forming into place. Holly smiled in a way that hid her true feelings, because she couldn't give it away. She didn't dislike Azarih, quite the opposite actually. He was _nice. _She'd always liked nice. They were easy to control. She just couldn't let him see.

"I don't think I can be with Blaine, though." She said, lowering her voice. Looking over her shoulder, the boy was too occupied with the television to pay them any attention. She could just tell he was still pissed off.

Azarih had offered to mentor him until Denley arrived, but he refused, mainly glaring in the direction of Holly. What she'd done she had no idea, it's not like he knew her. And if he did, well so be it. She didn't know him and quite frankly didn't want to know him.

He seemed moody. Ungrateful. Stupid. Like the world would fall on its knees for him without working hard, and Holly, although liking things to fall into place automatically, still gave it her all.

"Not every District works together. That's fine. You'll find someone."

Holly nodded, glancing back at the television. She'd watched the re-caps, but what could you really gain from them? She'd burst into tears, and that was far from the truth. She wasn't happy, but she wasn't so upset that it would have been her normal reaction.

No, she'd have to wait. Like they'd have to wait to see if the girl who wiped her nose on the escort's dress was in fact a girl to count out of the Game.

"I might go to my room. I need to… think."

Azarih understood. But to think about things different to what he might have expected. It was the deadliest competition she'd been in, and she was smart enough not to compare it completely to school, because school was about who owned the corridor, not who could kill and come out the other end alive but tainted.

It was a game on a larger scale. Holly moved to her room, sank into the mattress, and huddled up tight.

Tomorrow, she'd see the tributes up close. Tomorrow, things would get serious.

Tomorrow, the real game began.

* * *

><p><strong>Chase Whittaker, 18 years old;<br>District Twelve Male.**

* * *

><p>He was angry.<p>

Haymitch had disappeared to his room, a drunken mess. Their Escort had escorted him and not returned, so now, Chase sat by himself, glaring at the automatic door. He'd rather no mentor than an inconsolable drunk, but it was a disadvantage he detested.

Chase wasn't an idiot, coming from Twelve, the last District, he was pretty much at the biggest disadvantage anyway. No one would remember him. Personalities would shine brighter. Lexine herself had shown she had the strangest attitude towards life Chase had ever seen, but then again, Chase could tell she'd had a better life than he did. An easier life.

So he didn't hate her. It was like hating an annoying younger sibling, you just couldn't do it.

"Chase?" At the announcement of his name, Chase looked up, over at Callan. He was an old man, wrinkled, small, hunched, but he had a certain respect to him that Chase found endearing. He wish he had that. A commanding aura that deserved attention. All Chase could feel as he had watched the recaps was a deep sense of inadequacy.

Strong tribute, after good looking tribute, after another strong tribute. And he seemed… boring. He wanted to make an impression, and he had no idea how. _In the Games, _his own thoughts spoke to him, at the back of his head as he moved towards Callan and Lexine. _You'll show them in the Games. You'll show them how you'll do anything. _He gritted his teeth, agreeing, but disliking himself for that.

He wanted to win. But the fear stemmed from how far he'd go to do that. He had no idea of his own limits.

"Lexine wanted to ask you something." Callan smiled. The sort of smile he associated with the elderly when talking to the youth. A kind smile.

Lexine had the complete opposite kind of the smile, a dreamy, unintelligent, spaced out smile. Like an infant. But he tried to respond in kind, the same kind of expression he'd offered up on the stage. It worked, for the time being anyway, he could offer that sort of kindness to another human being. _Before I try to slit their throats._

"I don't mind sharing Callan with you," she giggled, "not that you're my possession or anything. But it's only fair you have someone as well. Even though I'm not quite sure what you're supposed to be doing. No offence."

Chase's curiosity had reached an all-time high as his District partner turned back to face Callan. She was being kind – almost too kind. He wanted to judge her for it, he wanted to be paranoid in a smart way and assume she was hiding something. But looking at the innocence there, he couldn't see it. He couldn't force it out of him.

She was just a good person.

Good people would get him killed.

"That's nice of you but-" he faltered, feeling guilty at his next words. It was like kicking a puppy. "I-I don't want me being your tribute acting as a way of signing some sort of contract between the pair of us that means we'll be allies. You're a… nice girl, Lexine. But not the sort of ally I'm looking for."

He expected her to retract her offer the second he'd said that. Or slap him. Do something a girl might have done, a girl who'd take his rejection as an insult. Instead she just nodded, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. "I wasn't asking to be allies. I was asking you if you wanted Callan as well. You're a bit too quiet for me anyway Chase."

"We led different lives," Chase said, slightly wounded. He couldn't help the fact he'd never been the greatest person at expressing himself. He liked to keep it all in. It kept him safe, and he was safe in his own mind. Even if it never felt like it had reached its full potential, it was his, and he understood it.

He knew other people, he was good with some people, but they were strangers. They had their own secrets, their own truths and lies and motivations that would take a while to work out.

He'd be able to identify them eventually. As far as he could tell, Lexine would only drag him down. She was weak- as shameful as it was to think that- and weak would kill him.

He had to be strong.

"Tell me a bit about yourself then Chase. Since I'm going to be your mentor as well. I know Lexine loves her grandparents, who do you love, what do you wake up for every morning?"

Chase stuttered over his words, fumbling for something. _What do I wake up for? _It wasn't his life for sure. Granted, it was fine, but it wasn't of the highest quality or anything. His life was following the cliché life of everyone in Twelve, he'd worked in the mines from eighteen, and would most likely either die down there or starve to death.

It was boring. He didn't know what to say.

But the silence told Callan everything he needed to know about Chase. He'd worked out Lexine, and Chase knew he probably had an inkling as to who would be the better person to give a boost to in the Arena- who had the makings of a Victor.

"I wake up for my family Chase, surely you wake up for them as well?"

Chase shared a sideways glance with Lexine. He didn't know how to reply. She wasn't the sort of person he liked to be around – asking so many questions, being so… out of tune to the world's way of working.

Chase was grounded in reality. Lexine drifted in a daydream world. And Callan, he was trying. He'd be good to get some advice from, but he couldn't understand fully. Everyone was different. Each Games tweaked every year, adjusted so they were brand new.

"I'd like to be excused… if that's okay…"

Callan nodded. Lexine looked a bit stunned, before smiling at him and bidding him a goodbye.

He returned it and walked back to the seat he'd been in before. He wanted help. He did, he really did. But maybe the help he needed was the help he could give himself.

It would be his own mind that would get him out of this alive.

_Maybe I need someone, but I don't need them. _Who that person was, he didn't know. He just wanted to go home.

And to do that he had to win.

He had to be a horrible person to the nicest of people. They were the people who made it further.

They were the Victors in this world.

* * *

><p><strong>Quick update time!<strong>

**POV count has moved down to three for the Capitol, just because I work in a weird way that means if I have to write less for one chapter, I'll be tempted to write more during one sitting. Even though it still works out the same word-count wise overall at the end of the Capitol, I'm still more motivated.**

**So yes, train rides are dull, but they're out of the way now. Remember to vote on the poll if you haven't already done so. And review if you can ;3**

**Up next, Chariot Prep!**


	10. Adversity

**Chapter Ten.**

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><p><strong>Chariot Preparation.<strong>

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><p><strong>Rayah Ausbern, 18 years old;<br>District Two Female.**

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><p>This was the one part Rayah hadn't been looking forward to.<p>

Not that Rayah was uncomfortable in her own skin, that couldn't be further from the truth. It was the idea that they weren't just total _female _strangers, but they were from the Capitol. And a part of that made the entire situation feel different.

Still, Rayah complied and walked into the little glass room, encased in four panels that showed a white tiled corridor stretching from one end of the floor to the other. Even if she didn't like where she was and couldn't wait to move on in the process, especially training tomorrow, Rayah refused to put up a fuss.

It wouldn't do good to cause unnecessary arguments with people that only had her best interests at heart. Especially people who might have influence on who put sponsor money in the pool that would centre on her and Henry.

Not that she liked Henry. Quite the opposite. He was an annoying parasite, he could roll over and die for all she cared. It was mean, but it was true. He'd only get in the way and she had no time for distractions.

Those were in the past – the parties, the boys, the everything. There'd be boys in the Capitol, and she'd be more than happy to pull a few strings or two, but her reputation as a capable fighter also meant too much to just let it crumble over a façade. This was the life she had chosen. She would kill to keep it.

"Now Rayah, procedure dictates that the tribute is meant to strip off all layers and lie on the table in the centre of the room." Her stylist, a plum coloured, perfumed lady that looked around her age, motioned to the slab of metal in the centre. However, when Rayah moved forward with a smile, happy to oblige, she raised her hand and shook her head.

"You and Henry will be following a different sort of protocol. To be quite frank, his stylist is an imbecile, and here we have no qualms with allowing both of you into the same room to work on you together. Create a perfect duo with both canvases before us. Quite poetic don't you think."

Rayah's smile dropped. Her fingers clenched into fists the moment the door opened and Henry walked in, swinging his arms with a stupid grin on his face. She'd knock his teeth out if she could.

He undermined everything she valued in life. She enjoyed a spot of fun just as much as the next person, dithering in things the elderly community turned their noses up at.

But Henry enjoyed fun in a different way. It was disgusting. And not only that, but his cocksure way of handling himself and others… _no, _he steadied herself from shaking and offered him a polite nod.

She'd be civil if anything. Until she could hack his head off.

"Miss Ausbern. Looking very whorish this evening."

Rayah's fingers opened and closed. A twitch ran down her cheek. She forced the smile to grow into her face – sickly sweet for a sour boy.

"Mr Eris. Delightful as always."

His own stylist was nowhere to be seen. She wanted to punch that imbecile too for lumping him with her. But the woman in the centre looked between the two and chuckled, clapping her hands together, before gesturing to the pair of them.

"Now Rayah and Henry. We have decided to go with the usual theme of gladiator mixed with the stone your District seems far too keen on. Can't see the beauty myself. So, you'll be plated in gold, but I need to pick out a shade of dusting… now…" She paused, looking over several tubs and vials on the far table.

With her back turned, Henry was staring at the elder girl, smirking as he looked her up and down. Henry had always kept to himself, rarely talking to anyone. Here he seemed to be turning that on its head just to get a rise out of her.

Did he want a place in the alliance, or did he want to fuck his chances up by annoying the only people that'd protect his ugly little back?

She turned her head away from him, refusing to stoop to his level. She wanted to see her other allies – see if anyone else was as serious as she was. Or if they were all just idiots who saw the frivolity as an excuse to dump years of training in the trash.

"Rayah could you please come here, raise your arm and stand very still." Henry made a noise when she walked pass. Right then, her blood ran cold. Her head made a clicking noise when she twisted it to glare at him. Her fist twitched. But no, she refused.

If she did that, she'd be no better than the psychopathic midget. "I think something's wrong with your throat."

With that, she walked over to her stylist and did as she was bid. Raising her arm, her stylist sprinkled some silvery glitter with a hint of gold. There was a pause, an uncomfortable pause, until Rayah realised she was meant to give her opinion.

"I think it's… very… glittery." Rayah laughed, unsure what to really saw. _It's glitter, I really don't give a flying fuck… and with him behind me, sneering no doubt, I just want to get out of here. _"I guess it's very pretty."

"Henry stand next to Rayah."

The small boy followed orders, surprisingly. Next to her hip, he looked at her arm, and then at her eyes. "Have we got any black glitter to cover her face? Or anti-makeup glitter? She's looks like a clown. I'd rather not see it."

"Listen here you stupid little…" Rayah stopped herself, breathing out, controlling her anger. Her stylist sprinkled some glitter over Henry's arms and glanced between the two, totally unaware of the animosity rising in the air.

If she left, hell would break loose. It was an authority figure that was keeping Rayah's fist away from Henry's mouth. Her own dignity was starting to shed in favour of smashing his face through the glass wall.

_The Games… save it for the Games… _"I think it's a lovely shade Henry. Gives your skin some colour. We can all see you need some. Allergic to the sun?"

"Allergic to sluts, actually."

Rayah narrowed her eyes. "I'm allergic to letting you make it a day in the Arena. Or I'm starting to. We'll see, won't we?"

"We will indeed."

Both of them jumped when her stylist clapped her hands between the two, beaming at them both. "Okay, colour chosen. Now take off your clothes."

"You've got to be kidding me." Rayah and Henry both looked at each other, having spoken at the same time.

They had to get naked… in front of each other?

She liked men. Not children. Henry was nothing but an immature impish idiot.

But he'd learn his place. They all did.

Rayah was more than glad to show him. More than happy to start the drama a little early. She was a fighter.

So she would fight.

* * *

><p><strong>Therese Chaney, 16 years old;<br>District Eleven Female.**

* * *

><p>Therese was used to the cold on her bare skin, she was used to the way she'd force a smile on her face when it felt hard to handle.<p>

This was both of those things. Being naked on the table, not only was she shaking in the deep chill that kept the heat out, but having a young man working over her body, assessing it, that was where it became hard to handle.

But Therese refused to let it get her down, this was all part of where she'd come to. It was about adapting now. She'd adapted to suit a harsh life in Eleven, the same one many people fought through, so she'd change for the fight this city presented.

And then a final change for the Games, where it all culminated into the hardest challenge. In the strangest way, she felt almost glad to have led such a bad life, and worked out an attitude to hold it all together especially when it seemed like giving up was the better option.

It meant here and now, she had an outlook that some of the others didn't. A determination only a select few understood. A strength she had in herself that would get her through this.

Because she would get through this. She had to get through this. Losing just wasn't an option, she… she couldn't lose. The mere thought of that sent a different kind of chill down her spine.

It terrified her more than anything she'd had to face before, and would face. Never being able to smile again. Or laugh. Or even flirt. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't happen.

"You've got wonderful skin." She jumped up at the sound of his voice. It had been the first time they'd said anything to the other since he'd stepped through. He had a high-pitched, nasally tone that set her skin on edge.

Of course, Therese wouldn't comment on such a superficial quality. She barely knew the man. What he'd done she didn't like, but still, he'd done nothing to harm her. So she smiled up at him, at the weird angle she was laid down at. "Thank you sir."

"Oh no, no sir here. Call me Art."

"Alright, thank you Art." Therese adjusted her elbow a bit, feeling it go numb. Really she just wanted this entire process to be over so she could get out into the Capitol. Although it was slightly daunting being thrust into the limelight and a million people she'd never met, cameras clicking and flashing, people like Art clapping, and tributes she'd never met all around her, Therese couldn't help but feel confident she had it in her to do well.

This was the hardest part. The waiting. The nakedness. Boys usually winked back at her, but it was playful, always had been. Nothing came out of it because it was a bit of fun. So she'd never actually felt so exposed to someone of the male gender.

Her skin crawled when he touched her leg, then looked down at a tray. If she thought the first part, the _looking_, was the worst, she really had no idea.

When the strip of paper was ripped from her skin, for a brief, stupid moment she thought she was already in the Games and pain had come to take her away. It literally felt like her leg was on fire.

Although Therese had taken care for her appearance, the little things that felt so trivial were really pointless to consider. Apparently her legs needed to be taken care of though.

"Sorry love, this does usually hurt."

Therese gritted her teeth, nodding. "Do you have to?" Her tone through the pain that flared along her skin was strained, but she kept it steady. Weakness wouldn't do. Not that she was cocky enough to pretend, she just didn't want to let someone see it who had the potential to influence a big portion of this process for her.

"We must make you look exquisite. So yes, dear, I'm afraid we have to."

Therese closed her eyes and leaned back into the cold metal of the table. It was a strange mixture of feelings, the chill of the metal contrasting with the burning sting of whatever he was doing to her body. She wanted to cry out at several parts, especially when a small tool was used, but she kept it all in.

When it was done, Therese actually felt like crying with relief. Paying the price for beauty… it was absurd some girls even did that. Living her life, she guessed she struggled and agonised over different tribulations.

The Capitol was opening her eyes to a whole new host of things. It was weird, curious, but different in a negative way. She was prepared. But scared. And that would never change.

"All we have left to do is show you your dress."

"My dress?" Therese kept her eyes on Art's back, all the way over to the closet at the side. What he brought out nearly took the breath from Therese's lungs. Again, she'd never had the chance to even gaze upon such things unless they were on television and she was watching tributes sport such fashion.

Now that the outfit was in front of her, she felt like a little girl, fawning over something immature. But it didn't matter. She could live and be happy for these small moments, before horror struck, she'd allow herself to be a teenager that cared for the little things.

"It's beautiful." Therese honestly meant it. The stitching had been done in a way that brought colour of different shades and hues to the material. When she put it on, it was tight, and of course she felt a little degraded considering which part of her body it hugged the most, but she appreciated it all the same.

He was trying to make her stand out. She couldn't fault him for helping her.

"You look stunning. The new you."

Therese frowned at that, but then smiled. "More like the same me, but… revamped." She didn't want to lose herself just because a pretty dress had been pulled over her body.

Looking in the mirror, she was still Therese. She always would be.

This was just a new stage in her life, a scary, unfamiliar stage, but she'd fought through everything Panem had flung her way before. This was just another step to cross.

"Now for the hair."

Therese felt the warm glow in her stomach and relished it. A lot was going on in her head, but she let it, she welcomed the way her body was becoming overwhelmed.

It meant she was human.

It meant she was reacting the way a normal person would react.

And that's what mattered most. Still being just a normal person. It's the one thing she'd retain for as long as she could.

Being Therese Chaney. Nobody else would do.

* * *

><p><strong>Lexine Videl, 16 years old;<br>District Twelve Female.**

* * *

><p>Her hand trailed down the black gown she was wearing. It was lacy, silky and with bits of frill Lexine played with as she sat, patiently in the chair.<p>

It was a strange world she'd been taken to. Everything she had seen in Twelve, every nook and cranny she wanted to get a snippet of in her life, broadening her experiences, couldn't compare to this.

Even this room was beautiful. When she looked out the glass, people with colours she weren't even aware existed roamed around, some noticing her and waving at her.

Truthfully, she was scared. Maybe she didn't show it, but Lexine knew one emotion that was the right thing to feel was a sense of fear.

Because this was not just new, but scary. And above it all, she missed her family. Her grandmother especially who had to be pulled from her when it was time to go, back in Twelve, after she had been reaped and stood in front of everyone.

_I want to go home, _Lexine blinked back tears and dragged her foot along the ground, randomly trying to take her mind away from anything but the way she felt.

A distraction managed to present itself in the form of her stylist, once again arriving with Callan behind her.

He looked her up and down once with the hugest grin on his face. There and then, it became almost impossible for Lexine to feel like she had no one. Because she had him. He was one of the nicest men she'd ever met – even Chase, quiet, funny Chase, was a nice person to be around.

She hoped it could last forever.

Even though she knew it wouldn't. A girl like her knew some truths of this world, and in the Hunger Games people died, it's just the way it was. She asked questions about why and what for, but it changed nothing. It was a constant in her life, like her curiosity. Like the way she didn't understand everything, but wanted to, more than anything.

"You look beautiful Lexine." He offered her a hand up to which she gratefully accepted. Callan helped her up and she stood there, her dress flowing behind her on the floor, her arms and legs dusted with ash.

It was quite ticklish really. She laughed a few times whilst being prepared, after arguing a little bit before. Why she had to be… naked of all things, Lexine had no idea.

They'd caved at least. _I can be awfully stubborn if I want to be, _she thought, amused at the way they had looked down at her around the table.

It had all been worth it though, according to Callan she was beautiful. She'd only heard that from her family before. It was awfully nice to hear it from him, a stranger really.

"Is Chase ready?" She asked, her stylist playing with Lexine's hair. She hovered nearby like a busy little bee, doing this and doing that. It was distracting, but Lexine was used to it now. Even if it felt like an invasion of privacy, she'd come to understand the Capitol didn't know boundaries. Lexine had always crossed a certain line, at least apparently she did, but she never went too far. Not as far as they did at least.

"I believe so. He asked how you were doing, after yesterday he felt a little guilty."

Lexine waved it away, giggling. "He's not the ally for me either, I didn't take it offensively or anything. We're two different people. I understand."

"Really?"

"Completely," Lexine said, nodding. "I wish him all the best though. He's a nice kid, don't you think?"

Callan had a weird look in his eye. Lexine studied it for a split second, like he couldn't really comprehend the way she was thinking – sort of like some of the people in Twelve, who found her amusing, but strange.

She didn't like that. She just wanted to be herself, but apparently she was always doing something wrong and she never quite understood what it was.

"Chase is the sort of boy who'll do well on his own. Or with someone a little more like him. You on the other hand, have you thought about any allies?"

It was certainly odd discussing strategy here, where she'd just got changed, especially with the crazy little lady hovering over her shoulder. But apparently they weren't ready for the tributes yet. So she was more than happy to wait, if they had to.

"I haven't really had the chance to see any of the other tributes."

"You saw them on the television though, on our way here. Surely someone made an impression." Callan spoke with the utmost interest in her opinion, which was nice for a change. Like he had called her beautiful, he also seemed hooked to whatever she had to say.

Chase had walked off yesterday. But Callan _listened. _That was important.

"Someone who will take me for me. And will listen as well. They won't just think I'm being an idiot."

"You're never an idiot Lexine," Callan said, shaking his head with a kind smile.

"That's sweet of you, I just don't think people get me. I just feel- ow!" She yelped and spun round at the lady, who had gone bright red, leaping backwards.

Lexine's own face had gone a shade to match her own. "What was that for?"

"Lexine it's fine," Callan said, placing a hand on her shoulder. To calm her, Lexine wasn't sure, but this lady… she'd- "She stabbed me."

"I was putting a clip in your hair and you moved. Sorry." She went to move again, but Lexine's

heart was racing, a weird tugging feeling in her stomach that scared her.

"Lexine it's alright."

"It just reminds me…" she drifted off, looking down again, feeling overwhelmingly sad. It was suffocating at times, understanding, but not quite being able to show it in an effective way other than drifting off into these kinds of moods.

"Reminds you of what?"

Lexine sighed, looking back up, matching her sad eyes with his own. "The Games. Pain. Everything. I just… I know what's going to happen… but I don't understand why I have to be here. What I've done."

"You've done nothing. It's just the way it works, Lexine. The way Panem works."

He pulled her into a hug. Lexine moved to wrap her arms round his frail shoulders, and then, standing as still as she could, she realised how badly she was shaking.

It was piling up so much she was scared she might explode. Not everything could have the sun raining down on it, not everything could be perfectly happy, and Lexine was scared because the life she'd had had cocooned her in sanctuary.

Here it felt like she was metaphorically naked to the whole world. Exploring a life she actually, funnily enough, wasn't curious about seeing.

"I just want to go home," she whispered, closing her eyes tight.

"I know you do Lexine," Callan replied, patting her back, "I know you do."

And to do that, she had to win.

_How am I supposed to win?_

She knew the answer of course. She just didn't… she couldn't… accept it. It wasn't who she was. It never would be.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey everyone, so here are the results for the first poll. On my profile is a new one, asking who you think will die in the bloodbath. So go vote on that. I've left it open for eight votes.<strong>

**So yes, results for favourite tribute!**

**1****st****: Tristian Fortier – 11 votes  
>2<strong>**nd****: Saira Carinne – 10 votes  
>3<strong>**rd****: Rhaella Cresswell + Lazaro Aden – 9 votes  
>4<strong>**th****: Noelani Lenoire + Chase Whittaker – 8 votes  
>5<strong>**th****: Rayah Ausbern + Lucian St. Laurent + Holly Branwell + Ramon Decker – 7 votes  
>6<strong>**th****: Sherina Harney + Tymas Romain + Clarette Aamira – 6 votes  
>7<strong>**th****: Vance Seymour + Eliasi Vallis – 5 votes  
>8<strong>**th****: Jasper Ness + Therese Chaney + Lexine Videl – 4 votes  
>9<strong>**th****: Chip Flexan + Blaine Carrigan – 3 votes  
>10<strong>**th****: Henry Eris + Arial Bold + Adley Proctor + Casimar Kaveli – 2 votes**

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><p><strong>Eh, another update. Is this a good thing, me updating so frequently? I'm writing a lot, I have the next chapter done too, but I don't feel this gives people the time to read (and review, if they're planning too).<strong>

**So yeah, ehh.**

**But anyway, on a happier note, I have a collab opened with Cashmere67, so check that out and submit if you want to!**


	11. First Impressions

**Chapter Eleven.**

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><p><strong>Chariot Rides.<strong>

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><p><strong>Adley Proctor, 15 years old;<br>District Five Female.**

* * *

><p>Adley tugged at her outfit, frowning as her stylist escorted her downstairs. It was a silver dress made of foil. For whatever reason, apparently this represented their District's industry, with little antennas sticking out her head.<p>

She looked stupid, but she kept that to herself. Whatever she thought wouldn't really matter in the long run, these people did whatever they wanted. Adley was just one member of twenty-four kids that really were only here for one thing and one thing only: to entertain the Capitol.

Who cared about their feelings?

She wasn't sure whether she was happy or not to be one of the tributes no one paid attention to. Adley didn't care too much for what the Capitol thought, but she wanted… something. She wanted to feel important enough to give her a lasting boost of encouragement.

Before she got lost too much in what she wanted, but couldn't really have, lights blindsided the young girl. She nearly fell over, struggling on the silver heels she'd been forced into. The stables themselves stunk of whatever scent horses had. She'd never seen one in real life, it was quite amazing, really.

But what cancelled out that amazement were the other tributes. This was the first time they were all in the same place. At the front, the tributes from One, Two and Four were already gathered together, talking. The girls stunning. The boys handsome.

Someone snickered as Adley walked up towards her own Chariot, and she couldn't help but blush. Chip caught sight of her and quickly leapt down, beaming at her with a confidence Adley longed for herself.

"Want some help?" Chip extended a hand. Adley blushed again and took it, letting him escort her over to the Chariot. She was struggling to balance on her feet, but with his assistance, she could manage to at least not look like a total idiot.

Maybe it would be better to sink into the shadows of this whole thing, fall under the radar, but she still didn't want to come across as an embarrassment. She had some dignity at least.

"We've got some time before we roll on out, I was told to just stay here. Think I'm going to go chat to some of these other tributes though, get the lay of the land really. Want to join me?" Chip had a way with his words. Adley felt drawn to him. Everyone knew Chip in Five, he was the one people flocked to if they needed a motivational boost, or a kind word, or some help with anything.

It was sort of like Adley, but in such a bigger way. Adley was just there to care for others if they needed someone. The silent helper. She wouldn't fit in with Chip's crowd, his plans, and whoever he wanted as an ally.

She was smart enough in that respect, they just wouldn't work together.

"Thanks Chip, but I'm going to wait here. Feeling a bit ill." It was only half a lie. Chip took it in his stride and nodded, waving at her as he walked away, further down the line. She watched him go, his back turned. He passed a girl in a black dress, and Adley immediately felt herself tense up when her eyes landed on her own.

_Do I want her to come to me…? What does she want? _Adley wasn't ready to speak to the other tributes. She'd barely collected herself since being reaped. But this girl, with a dreamy sort of smile, a distant look in her eye, was walking towards her.

She refused to be rude.

"Hi, nice dress."

Adley laughed, tugging at the foil. "Apparently Five makes foil."

"Does it?" The girl asked. Adley thought she was joking, but with the awkward pause where she didn't start laughing, she realised she wasn't. Oh. It was interesting.

"No, no. We work with power, although to be honest I'm not all that sure what we do. But we definitely don't make foil."

"Still, it's pretty. Do you like mine?" She gave a little twirl, giggling. The dress was definitely something else. The dusting on her arms and legs immediately gave away her District. The girl from Twelve.

Adley had noticed her on the train, during the recaps. She had something about her. Something Adley was drawn to. Everyone else here had a strength to them, a sort of mental edge that would continuously, no matter what, make Adley feel inferior. Even though she'd do whatever she could for an ally, she'd always feel like a burden.

But this girl… they had some time before the Chariots rolled out. She felt like talking. She actually felt like she could open up around this strange kid from Twelve.

"I think your stylist has done you a favour. Usually District Twelve never gets the nicest outfits."

"Don't they?" She asked, laughing. With a shrug of her shoulders, she stepped up to Adley, extending her hand. "I'm Lexine. District Twelve. Although I think you already guessed that."

Adley looked at her hand and felt nerves swim through her stomach, but also a sense of excitement. Here she couldn't really be judged straight away because no one knew her. It was a clean slate. "Adley. District Five. The foil District."

Both girls started laughing. Adley saw the boy from Six glare at her from behind Lexine, peering over his Chariot's side. She ignored him and turned to face Lexine who was staring at her in a way that made Adley uncomfortable, but not in the way that made her want to run away.

She showed an interest in Adley she'd never experienced before.

"My mentor told me a big part of the Games is allies. And I've been thinking for a bit about who, and well… I was walking down the line and you seem like a person I'd like to be around."

She was shocked for a moment, but knew she'd probably have asked if Lexine hadn't jumped in. She saw something in her, something she really liked. Something that wouldn't make her feel like walking away, kicking herself over saying or doing something wrong.

"This happened earlier than I expected," Adley replied honestly, smiling. "I'd love to Lexine."

"Great!" She threw her arms round her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. "I guess I should get back to my District partner, Chase. I'll see you around Adley!"

"Tomorrow, during training." Adley nodded and bid her a goodbye.

Chip returned at that moment, but whatever he said drowned out in a buzz that blocked out external noise. All Adley could think about was that she now had an alliance, and so soon. Apart from the Careers, maybe the earliest alliance put together.

She felt ecstatic. But more importantly, she felt like maybe, now, she had a shot.

She had someone. Someone had seen something in her, even a strange girl like Lexine, she'd still sought out Adley and asked to be with her.

It made Adley feel valued. And that's all she really wanted at the end of the day. She'd helped others. Now someone could help her.

They'd be there for each other.

She was happy.

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><p><strong>Tymas Romain, 17 years old;<br>District Eight Male.**

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><p>He touched his shoulder, smiling. "You should get back to you Chariot, we're about to start."<p>

"I'm from Eight. You're from Seven, we've got time," Tymas said, grinning, touching his shoulder back with a small, playful shove.

"You're a bit hands on aren't you?"

"A boy does what a boy likes." Tymas laughed. "Yeah you're right, I'll see you later. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Ramon said, nodding his head.

Tymas watched the boy walk away, hoisting himself in the Chariot before delving into conversation with his District partner. He smirked, crossing his arms round his chest once he was balanced out on his own.

He'd be a good ally, Tymas thought, watching him from the back as he chatted animatedly, waving his hands around, laughing with the equally cheerful girl to his side. Tymas turned to face Eliasi, who was facing the front with a proud smirk on her face.

He didn't mind her actually. He wasn't like other girls he'd come across. Whereas they were a tad too emotional, she just said what she liked, which came across a little inhospitable, but was endearing all the same.

"Are you seriously chatting up someone you've only just met?"

Tymas shrugged his shoulders. "There are a lot of good looking folk here. You're not too hard on the eyes either," he laughed and moved towards her. Eliasi rolled her eyes and swatted his hand away, but not before Tymas caught a small little smirk plastered across her face.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, do what you like okay, might as well. We aren't here forever."

"Too right you are," Tymas looked over his shoulder at the pair from Nine. Another good looking guy and gal. It was nice here, as nice as the Capitol could really be with death breathing over his shoulder. Although everything was a little too hyped up for his taste and he felt like energy was being force-fed down his throat, it was better than he expected at least.

It was fun, and he liked fun. A normal teenager did. The sad part was its longevity, it wouldn't be around forever.

"So found anyone you like?" Tymas asked the question as the doors opened. His jaw nearly hit the ground at the noise that swallowed up Eliasi's answer. He saw so much light blasted from in front that he felt like his eyes were going to drip from their sockets. And the Capitolites… even from here, the colour was as breath-taking as the cameras flashing away.

He felt… excited. Overwhelmed. Terrified. He could do this, he could be the centre of attention if he had to be, and a lot of people of course enjoyed a little praise here and there, but he also kind of wanted it to end. He enjoyed kicking his feet up and lounging around, soaking life in for its littlest pleasures.

Here, it was the complete opposite of that. His life was literally hanging on the line over a stupid outfit and whether or not the Capitol would like him.

"I really don't think this is going to be fun." Eliasi gulped, wiping her brow. The spark in her eyes had been replaced with something a little darker. She looked at Tymas, who offered her a wonky sort of grin, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wave, smile, do your thing. Live in the moment I guess."

Eliasi gritted her teeth, frowning. "You speak like my brothers and me. But… but still, this," she gestured around her, "this isn't Eight."

"No it's not Eight," he could tell she was getting emotional, and he didn't want that. He liked Eliasi for her the way she came across chill, but ready. Prepared. That's why he liked Ramon, he was confident, happy, but also had a mental edge that made him stand out. But he'd calmed down plenty a friend back in Eight, so he could calm down Eliasi.

"If you can't cope with the crowd around you, focus on me. Look at me, I'll look at you, and we'll make a show from that, alright?"

She bit her lip. The Chariots were rolling out, the last Career district had been swallowed by the light. Soon it would be their turn. "I'm scared I'll fall off."

"You don't come across as a paranoid kind of girl."

"I'm not," she frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "You're right. We can do this." She then looked further down Tymas, giggling at his outfit.

Both of them were covered head to toe in random sheets of tie-dyed fabric. It was the most hideous thing he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a lot of ugly people back in Eight. Eliasi looked just as bad, with her hair done up in a ribbon that basically screamed notice-me!

"We look like crap."

"We sure do," Tymas grinned, accepting it for what it was. "It's just another reason for us to try alright, because our stylists have basically wrecked our chance of becoming fashion icons, we'll have to wow them with our personality."

"Your personality is kind of annoying." Eliasi started to laugh when Tymas frowned, a little wounded. "But you're a great guy okay. Better than a lot of people I've met before."

"You're a fun girl too, a stubborn headed fool at times, I saw you on that train okay, glaring out the window like the trees had killed your family." They both chuckled, watching the Chariot from Six start to move. "But you're nice. Eight can do this."

"One thing though," their horse whinnied, before beginning to trot away, then picking up the pace to drag them along. Tymas nearly fell on his face if not for Eliasi, who was frowning again. "We can't be allies."

"I know," Tymas jumped right into it. He knew because Eliasi wouldn't fit into the kind of group Tymas wanted, and he most likely couldn't keep up with whatever she was longing for as well. "But we can still get along for the time being. Here before we're forced to kill each other."

"I'm killing you first okay," she nudged him and he nudged her back.

"May the best man win."

"Woman," Eliasi said, holding onto the side, looking at Tymas. He'd promised he'd help her get through this, so he would.

The two of them could enjoy their time here, as teenagers, until they were forced to become people they'd never thought they would be.

He'd rather be at home any day of the year, but he was prepared to make the most out of it. There were distractions that kept his mind calm, like Ramon, like Eliasi, and the fact that here and now he was the centre of everybody's attention.

It wasn't so bad at the moment.

It would be.

But right now, it wasn't. That's all that mattered. So they focused on that, together.

* * *

><p><strong>Jasper Ness, 13 years old;<br>District Eleven Male.**

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><p><em>Why won't she stop smiling…? <em>Jasper stared at Therese, dumbfounded really.

Ever since the two of them had stepped onto the Chariot, all she'd been doing was acting so different to the girl on the train. The girl he'd started to like had been kind but normal. This girl was winking, flashing weird poses and large smiles every which way.

It sort of made Jasper a little angry that the Capitol had gotten to her so quickly. He was grinning, but that was really the adrenaline of being in the Chariot in the first place. He had one hand on the bar, one waving, but the enthusiasm wasn't there.

He didn't like being here. He just wanted to go home more than anything. It was stupid of him to think, he knew that, but stupid thoughts were still thoughts that he couldn't get rid of. Not that he wanted to try. They were his memories to maybe give him the boost he needed.

"Do we even have vineyards in Eleven?" Jasper plucked a plastic grape off his outfit and threw it over the Chariot's side. The two of them were a mesh of red grapes, oranges and other fruit. The most uncomfortable part was probably the miniature pineapple headband.

Whatever direction their stylists had been going for, they were pure idiots, nothing more to say about it.

"Just make it work Jasper," she smiled at him, before going back to fist-pumping the air for the adoring crowd. Adoring for her, though? Really, they didn't care for either of them, they were nothing more than casualties waiting to happen.

"Make it work like she is?" Jasper motioned to the Chariot in front. The girl from Ten wasn't just refusing to get on the Capitol's side, but she was staring straight ahead, one arm out, middle finger raised as they sped forward.

It appeared once on the screen and then that was it for Ten's spotlight.

"Maybe try to actually get on their side."

"Why?" Jasper grumbled, frowning. He knew why, of course he did, but nothing made it any easier to stomach. "I don't want to be something they want. Something that isn't me."

Therese flinched. He saw it in her eyes, some weakness that made Jasper's heart thump harder in his chest. He hoped he hadn't… upset her. He just wanted it to feel as natural as it could, until everything became unnatural and he had to be that person in the Arena you saw who broke.

He wanted his friends with him, and then regretted thinking that. If his friends were here, if _she _was here, then they'd be dying so he could live.

It was best they weren't. The situation was still terrible, though. This had never been what he'd wanted. Ever.

"Just… nod, smile, and do something special."

"Special huh?" Jasper looked around, but really, as they were doing another loop round, all he could see was the fruit on his outfit, Therese herself and the… horses.

"Aha!" He laughed and started to move forwards. Was it stupid? Did his cast, painted a stupid shade of purple make it hard to grab the front of the Chariot? Sure, it did. But Jasper wouldn't stop. They wanted him to be someone he wasn't by cheering for a crowd he loathed.

This, though? This was him. Having fun. Pushing it as far out as he could.

"Don't… Jasper please step back." Therese's voice was half pitched between excitement for the audience and concern for her District partner.

"You told me to make it work. Give them something. Here's something."

He pulled himself forwards and struggled to make his way onto the horse. If he could just get onto the back, the audience would love it. He'd be remembered at least, not just another name. Someone to forget the second they died.

He'd have made a mark – all whilst having fun at the same time.

He tried, he really did, but pain flared up his arm at the exact moment he felt a hand pull him back. A pineapple tumbled from his head and fell over the side. The Chariot bumped up, jolting Therese into him as the wheel ran over the piece of fruit.

When they finally came to a halt, both were lying down, struggling to stand up and regain balance. Jasper was chuckling, embarrassed. Therese looked worried, patting down her stupid dress, looking at the crowd with a blush.

She wanted them to like her. Jasper felt a twinge of guilt but ignored it. He'd done something, at least. The screen moved to District Twelve, but how long had it been on them? Eleven had somewhat of a presence, something they rarely ever had.

"Bastard," Jasper gritted his teeth, keeping his voice as low as he could when the man in charge walked onto his balcony.

"Don't say that." She nudged him in the side, her own voice losing its volume.

Jasper kept himself composed though, as much as he obviously hated this lunatic in charge. He looked forward with a smirk as the speech came to an end and they finally reached the end of their journey, outside the Training Centre where Seeder and Chaff were amongst the other mentors.

He saw their escort, his stupid stylist, and rolled his eyes. Again, more Capitolites to deal with.

When the two of them were helped down however, it wasn't a Capitolite he had to deal with, but another tribute, hurrying to his side.

The District Eleven entourage moved away to give the two of them some space, Chaff looking once over at them, smiling.

_What does she want? Who even is she?_

"Saw you trying to ride that horse." The girl was smiling at him. A real, genuine smile. Sort of like his friends when they'd congratulate him on something he'd done. Awestruck more than anything.

"Didn't work," Jasper frowned, but the girl laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

"You still tried."

"I did." He nodded. "I wanted to _do _something. Something different."

"I'm Eliasi Vallis, District Eight." Her hand was extended, Jasper looked at it once, curious. Then blushed, realising he was meant to shake it.

"Jasper Ness, District Eleven."

"So Jasper Ness from District Eleven. That little stunt, hearing what you just had to say, it's given me a little idea. I propose an alliance."

_Really…?_ Jasper gawped at her, like he'd misunderstood what she had to say. When they stood there in awkward silence, Eliasi raising an eyebrow, he realised she wasn't kidding and laughed nervously.

"Even with this?" He raised his arm, rolling his eyes at the stupid cast. It really was a nuisance.

How was he supposed to fight with his? _Do I even want to fight… kill… who knows? _He'd have to work that out.

"Whatever," Eliasi waved it away, still smiling at him. "Doesn't bother me at all. I care about the character, not the appearance. If I cared about appearance, there are plenty of other boys I'd rather be with."

Jasper smiled and shook her hand enthusiastically, up and down, up and down.

Only when she'd walked away, alliance secured, did her words sink in. Jasper turned to her direction, where she'd disappeared, blushing.

"Wait… did you just call me ugly….?"

But she was gone. So he shrugged his shoulders, looked at his cast, then at Therese.

He had an alliance. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe he'd found a purpose.

His way to have a friend.

* * *

><p><strong>Another poll on my profile! This time asking who you think will be in the finale, and as always my finales follow the theme of only having three, so I've given you three votes. If this turns out to be the reverse of my BB poll, I'll stop doing stuff about the Games. But for now, that's the question!<strong>

**Results for predicted bloodbaths!**

**1****st****: Arial Bold + Blaine Carrigan + Jasper Ness – 11 votes  
>2<strong>**nd****: Chip Flexan – 10 votes  
>3<strong>**rd****: Adley Proctor + Sherina Harney – 9 votes  
>4<strong>**th****: Casimar Kaveli + Noelani Lenoire – 8 votes  
>5<strong>**th****: Henry Eris + Lexine Videl – 7 votes  
>6<strong>**th****: Therese Chaney – 6 votes  
>7<strong>**th****: Tristian Fortier – 5 votes  
>8<strong>**th****: Lucian St. Laurent + Eliasi Vallis + Chase Whittaker – 4 votes  
>9<strong>**th****: Vance Seymour + Rayah Ausbern + Holly Branwell + Ramon Decker + Tymas Romain + Clarette Aamira – 3 votes  
>10<strong>**th****: Lazaro Aden – 2 votes  
>11<strong>**th****: Saira Carinne + Rhaella Cresswell – 1 vote**

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><p><strong>And here are the Chariot Rides! I don't mention much about outfits, for me this is just another way of getting to know tributes rather than mention stuff that really doesn't matter at all.<strong>

**I'd like to mention something, 'cause I got some hate on a previous story once about how I handled stuff. So, it will happen that some tributes appear more than others (Lexine has been in every Capitol chapter so far) but there's always a reason, and it always balances out over the entire Capitol. I have my reasons, so yeah with Lexine, she had to be in Chase's, her own obviously, and this formation of her alliance is the only chance I'll get to put it together. It had to happen early on, all together.**

**Don't worry – everyone will get their time in the spotlight :P**

**Anyway thanks to all the reviews! I wanted to get ahead of myself chapter wise but I've been busy these past few days, so I haven't started the next chapter. It should be out soon though, until then!**


	12. Unite

**Chapter Twelve.**

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><p><strong>Training Day One.<strong>

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><p><strong>Henry Eris, 16 years old;<br>District Two Male.**

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><p>It wasn't that he wanted to rip apart the alliance this early on.<p>

It wasn't even that Henry wished to be irritating.

It was simply because Henry did not like Rayah. Or Rhaella. Or any girl like the two of them. To put it bluntly, they made him angry. Henry watched them stand side by side, facing the front of the room, watching the Head Trainer intently as he went over the procedure for the next three days.

Henry felt a weird twitch down his arm. It was probably his eagerness to dump the boring idea of looking good and getting down to business. That's what he was really here for. To kill people. Here he could get a little bit more training in, get to know the alliance he'd be with, all with the grand vision of slicing and dicing some of these more… innocent folk.

_Innocent. _Henry wanted to snort as they were all dismissed. Maybe they were innocent, maybe they didn't deserve it, but they were here. It was part of the world they lived in. Henry would provide what had to be provided – he would kill, because he wanted to. And the Capitol wanted a killer. He'd be the perfect tribute in a perfect Game.

It was his perfect life.

But it still didn't help that he had Rayah and Rhaella to contend with. _Fuck's sake, even their names sound the same. _Henry rolled his eyes when Rayah called him over to join the huddle that had formed. Henry understood everyone was themselves, in a way, he sort of admired Rhaella's openness to at least acknowledging the slut she happened to be.

But it was still annoying to watch them act like this wasn't a death match. Maybe Rayah did – but he knew Rayah, and he hated the fact she was as fake as fake could be. No one knew about how she'd stumble drunk into any guy's arms, or throw up into the sidewalk, or moan that training was too hard with a hangover. That was the girl everyone knew in Two.

Here, they only saw the Career she wanted them to see. And then Rhaella. Well… Henry watched her immediately leave Rayah's side to join Tristian's hip, grinning up at him. The poor boy was trying everything not to blush and say something. Henry revelled in it.

Maybe this alliance had members he'd rather tear apart limb from limb than be around, but there were others he could at least put up with.

"Alright everyone, we meet again." Vance took the lead, clapping his hands together with a grin. Next to him, his District partner caught Henry's eye and the younger boy offered her a thumb's up. She grinned back, waving a little, and rolled her eyes at Vance who had clearly taken the leadership role.

"D'ya think you could get a move on, Tristy and I have some business to attend to."

"No we don't Rhaella," Tristian said, trying to swallow down a lump in his throat. Henry hated Rhaella, but it was still comical. Still funny how she made him squirm. She had her own way of unsettling the people she was around – Henry preferred to use a knife, she preferred to use her appearance.

Each to their own.

"Rhaella, we're a group. Come on, we stick together."

"As far as I recall, no one actually elected you as leader Vance." Rayah spoke up, stoic-faced. It made Henry itch to punch her, to break her nose, shove a knife down her throat and let her lie with that between her teeth. _I mean, she does love things between her teeth, doesn't she? _He smirked at her and she looked away, going red in the face.

His mere presence got to her. He loved it.

But he hated her.

"I thought it made the most sense-"

"That the pretty boy from One gets to lead?" Rhaella pouted her lips, stroking Tristian's arm. "I think Tristy here has much more potential than you do."

Vance looked like he was about to snap at her. Or storm off. His fingers balled into fists, which everyone caught sight of, and when he realised he was letting emotion get the best of him and how _wrong _that would be, he shook it off and smiled. Forcing the grin into his face.

"How about we take a vote then?"

"I don't even want to be lead-" Tristian was silenced by Rhaella's elbow in the ribs. Henry looked at her, then once more at Saira who was literally just standing there in silence. Soaking it in, maybe. Observing.

It was smart. She caught sight of Henry once more and smiled again, only this time looking far too smug. Too confident. But if there was anyone Henry did like in this group of theirs, it was her. Maybe they were the only ones here who actually understood what they were here for.

He could get on board with a girl like that. Maybe they would have each other's support in the long run.

"All in favour of me being leader." Vance looked around at the group. Everyone else around them, the little mice he couldn't wait to step on, were eyeing the group and looking away whenever any of them locked eyes with their own.

Most were trying to train. It was quite pitiful actually, knives were on the floor rather than in targets. That was show much this charade effected Henry, he'd rather pay attention to pathetic attempts at throwing weapons than who was the leader.

As long as the group was actually together, so what? Who cared who was the poster boy for the Careers this year?

Still, Henry say Rayah and Tristian raise their hands. Rhaella looked like she was about to say something to the boy, but she bit her lip and kept her mouth shut.

When it was time to vote for Tristian, Vance probably thinking it was the polite thing to do, raised his own hand. Rhaella did the same thing.

Then everyone turned to face Saira and Henry, expecting a vote. "What?" He shrugged his shoulders, staring at the girl from One, who was staring at him back.

They shared something in that look, something that united a single thought. It was pointless.

"I'm not voting," Henry said, shaking his head. Rayah stepped forward, a single fist clenched, and then froze, looking at the ground. Everyone looked angry, but when Saira chuckled brightly and shook her hair free from her collar, all eyes turned to her.

"I'm not casting a deciding vote when I think both of you are equally capable of leading. Or in fact, maybe we all are."

"So what are you saying?" Vance said, visibly deflated. Rhaella looked ready to pounce, Tristian quite relieved, and Rayah had her eyes flickering between her interest in this little event and her hatred towards Henry.

He lapped it up like a cat, soaking in what she felt towards him. It was fuel for his own hatred. Their own rivalry. Stuff that would make the Capitol prefer him over her, the show he'd give, the way he'd make the tables turn on the arrogant bitch.

"I think we should just take it as it comes. When someone has a good idea, we say it out loud, then if there's a majority vote, we do it. Democratic rather than someone getting too power hungry." Saira seemed pretty satisfied.

As did everyone else, when it sort of sunk in that it might work out better.

Henry didn't care, but he nodded at Saira, who nodded in response. He liked her. He really did. He could see him protecting her if it came to it, and Saira sticking up for him in response.

When it all crashed and burned, they could stick it out. Kill Rayah. Kill the slut. Kill the other two. And then make it to the end – the only two people here who knew what to do. Knew how to play the Game. Knew what it meant to be a Career.

Henry and Saira.

He liked the sound of that.

* * *

><p><strong>Arial Bold, 15 years old;<br>District Three Female.**

* * *

><p>"You don't talk much."<p>

"It's because I have nothing to say."

Arial was sat by the side of Lucian. Her District partner looked engrossed in bits of wire and strands of rope, his hands adeptly tying knots, threading things through hoops, humming his assent when things went right, and cursing under his breath when they didn't.

Arial, however, looked at what he was doing and nearly keeled over with boredom. It might have been easier if Lucian was a talker, but he hardly said a word. He really wasn't what she was looking for. At all.

"Well… see ya." She stood up and waited behind his back, smiling at the top of his head. Staring. Expecting something.

"Bye."

Arial nearly asked what his problem was, then thought better of it, shrugging and walking away. Sure, it was good to train, she wasn't stupid. But this was also the part where the tributes got to talk to each other, get to know who they'd be fighting with and against. Arial was rather intrigued by the others in this room.

Lucian wouldn't be her ally. But that didn't mean someone else couldn't be.

The room around her was cram-packed with everything Arial had seen on the television before. The weapons that were normal to be scared of, and the survival skills that no one seemed to know anything about. Arial wanted to go over to them, she wanted to be intelligent about this, but at the end of the day, Arial knew if it came down to it, she'd rather an ally than the limited knowledge she'd be able to pick up on anyway.

She'd never been the brightest bulb to light up a room, so why would things change now?

One thing she did know was people. And there were twenty-three of them here, with her, maybe looking for the same thing. _Twenty-two if I don't count Mr Angst over there. _She smirked and walked towards the nearest occupied station.

Two girls were already talking together, both smiling, but both holding back a little. It made sense, obviously. It was the first time since being here they were free to roam around and get to know other people. And getting to know people always led to first impressions, and first impressions could make or break a future relationship.

Arial would make sure she didn't put off anyone – not until she knew if they were people she wanted to put off. Then she'd flit away, find someone else, and the cycle would begin again.

"I think you're meant to rub the sticks together a little faster." The girl from Eleven pointed at the objects in the girl from Seven's hands. She looked perplexed, slightly angry, but also grateful for the help.

"Like this?" Sherina – Arial thought that was her name – went a bit too fast, up and down with her hands, but finally a spark was lit.

Both girls laughed openly and carried on with their work. _They seem nice enough, reserved, but friendly. I can always spice things up if needs be. _There were other ways the fire could have been lit as well – ways that were a little less… boring. Like maybe using some of the chemicals over by another station.

_Think out of the box, it'll help. _She nodded and asserted herself right between the two of them. Then and there, they both froze, looking over their shoulders then upwards at a standing Arial, who had both hands on her hips, grinning broadly at the confused faces of the girls below.

"Mind if I sit?"

"I… er-"

"Sure!" The girl from Seven patted the ground and Arial nodded her head, landing with a thump between them and looking at both in turn, grinning.

"So, sticks eh? Fascinating things! I find you can't beat a good stick."

Sherina raised an eyebrow and started to laugh. Therese bit her lip nervously and looked at the stick now in Arial's hand, then at the girl who was speaking, more astounded than anything.

Arial took it in her stride, it was natural they'd be like this. It only took a little coaxing and people removed the horrific shells they encased themselves in and opened up. After all, they were probably going to be dead by the end of the week, it'd be good to die knowing you actually had someone with you.

_Or maybe I won't die. _Arial thought, briefly frowning, before going back to something that felt more natural on her face.

She couldn't think like that. Not that she would die. If, maybe. There were always ifs. But no, she still had a chance of winning.

And she could do it with these two girls right by her side.

"You know I find there are better things to do with sticks than rubbing them together."

"What's that?"

Arial chuckled, snapping the stick in two and throwing both pieces over her shoulder. "Breaking them. Come on girls, they're boring, let's go do something more exciting."

"More exciting than learning how to start a fire?"

"More exciting than learning how to rub a stick together and producing a tiny spark, yes." Arial placed a hand on Therese's shoulder. Though the girl from Eleven seemed to be warming up a bit, she had a hostile edge that made Arial feel a little less welcome.

But that, like everyone, could be removed easily enough. Sherina seemed a little more open to Arial's enthusiasm and hopped to her feet, looking around the room and pointing out random stations.

"Where to now?"

"I don't mind, just anywhere where I don't have to rub wood between my hands." Arial started to laugh, Sherina did the same, and even Therese caught on and joined the pair of them. "I don't know about you, but I can't throw a knife to save my life. Literally."

"Then we'll go there."

"Come on allies, let's be off!" Arial walked with a skip to her step. _Maybe I'm pushing it, but who honestly cares? _She looked over her shoulder and realised neither of them were moving. She stopped, placed both hands on her hips, and tilted her head.

"What? I said allies, yeah. That's what we are, aren't we?"

Sherina and Therese looked once at each other, then back over at Arial. In unison they nodded, before skipping to Arial's side. "Allies indeed."

"Go team!" Arial cheered, leading them over to the weapons. The Careers were nearby, but earlier there had been so much dissent, no one seemed to even pay them attention, too occupied with their own internal affairs.

That's something Arial noticed, something she stored, and something she knew she could use in the future. If it came down to it, the struggle going on within the Pack would do everyone outside a justice they needed.

Maybe she didn't care about making fires. Or sitting down and fiddling with a bit of rope like Lucian seemed determined to do.

But this – watching people, talking to people, and getting to know people, she could do that. It was her greatest strength.

And now she had an alliance.

She had a chance.

A real chance.

* * *

><p><strong>Lazaro Aden, 17 years old;<br>District Ten Male.**

* * *

><p>Lazaro spotted them from across the room. Ramon and Tymas. Districts Seven and Eight.<p>

He wiped his hands on his trouser legs, straightening his shoulders up and smiling to the air around him. There were other people he knew would be good allies, but from across the room, in maybe the creepiest way possible, he'd sat there and watched the two of them.

And he knew by their smiles, their laughs and their general merriment, that he would fit in perfectly with them. Maybe not friends, but as allies, they'd get along. And he needed that. He needed the normalcy.

Besides, Lazaro knew he had it in him to be the person they also wanted in a third ally. He wouldn't just become a tagalong. He'd be important. Lazaro needed that just as much as he needed people – he needed to at least feel like he had a sense of purpose within a group. A mutual understanding that just because he came in last, he wouldn't be the one left in the dark.

He clenched, then unclenched his hands, and with confident strides, walked straight towards the two of them.

They were handling spears, throwing them between one hand and the next, and disastrously throwing them at the targets. Neither seemed to mind, shrugging it off and cracking a joke.

Lazaro paused, looking at their feeble attempt. A minute shred of hesitance raged through his body, overwhelming the enthusiasm he felt towards these two. If they were, to put it bluntly, useless, would it make sense to value the strength of their relationship over the strength of their bodies? Their physical aspects?

He shook the thought away. If he delved into that frame of mind too long, he'd consistently judge people and himself and be left alone on the outskirts, without anyone to bounce off of. He wouldn't be _that _person. The one people targeted because it was safer to tackle someone by themselves than someone with an alliance.

He'd fit in. He would, he could.

"-so basically, we suck. But at least we're having fun sucking."

"You have a lovely way with words Ramon." Tymas laughed and threw another spear. One of them was broader, more built like Lazaro, but Tymas seemed faster and defter with his throwing – maybe even more capable than Ramon.

Still useless, but better at least.

"Boys." Lazaro said, as cheerfully as he could, attracting their attention at the same time.

He felt slightly intimidated the moment both sets of eyes were locked on his own, assessing him, silently questioning who he was, what he was doing here, and maybe why. But he stood his own, asserting himself and smiling without coming across… needy.

He didn't want that.

There were so many ways to take this. So many people he could be as an ally. He hoped they at least gave him a chance – otherwise, they were being as rude as the Careers. Being as judgemental as the person he tried to repress.

"Boy." Ramon said, smirking.

"I'm a boy," Tymas replied, shoving a finger to his chest. Lazaro looked between the two and had half a mind to just turn away and walk off. They were funny, sure. Fun. He needed fun. But seriousness when it was time to be serious? Motivated to do whatever it took?

At a first glance, no. But he wouldn't be hypocritical. He'd give them the chance that he wanted for himself.

"We're all of the male gender, apparently. Now that that's out the way, I'm Lazaro-"

"-Aden, District Ten. Yes, yes, we know. You stare a lot. Checking me out or something?" Ramon laughed after he said it, especially at the way Lazaro's eyes widened, then narrowed. Immediately, the same sort of rage he felt during the goodbyes, the same sort of rage he managed to repress, coursed through his veins and into the fists that clenched by his side.

He kept the smile on his face, and he knew that besides the anger, he could feel the excitement pumping his heart away at a faster pace. Because he sort of liked the way this would work. What all three of them could bring – contrasting with one another, but fitting together at the same time. A good balance that was needed in a group.

"I was staring at your ability to throw. I'm not sure you're aware but you kind of… suck."

"Yeah we're very aware we suck," Tymas shrugged his shoulders, "but hey, at least we're trying right?"

"You could try harder."

"And you could try harder at letting loose a bit. You're not the Lazaro I remember seeing yesterday."

He raised an eyebrow. "You were watching me?"

"I watched the recaps. Ramon mentioned you as well, roughly the same time I did. You came sooner than we thought though."

"What do you mean?" Lazaro was growing more and more curious as the conversation continued. They seemed smarter than he originally thought. If they were observing like he was observing, than they'd both jumped to the same conclusion about one another.

About how they'd fit, and that made it all the more clear to Lazaro that these were the two allies for him. Maybe they grated on his nerves, but that wouldn't stop him from trying to be the sort of person he wanted to come across as.

They had the energy already, but maybe they lacked the drive to really use it properly. And the skill obviously. Although Lazaro kept that bit to himself, because he wasn't sure he could do much better either.

"Basically, we're the perfect trio don't you think? I've got the looks, Ramon's got the looks, you've got the looks. I've got the personality-"

"-and the ability to make someone want to punch you in the face, yeah." Lazaro joked, jumping in. Ramon immediately burst into a bout of laughter, and Tymas momentarily frozen, leaped into it as well.

Clearly it was working, and working well. He couldn't see himself laying down his life for these two, but so what? At the end of the day, he wanted to win, and these were two of his fellow tributes getting in the way of that. It didn't make it any easier to just forget that people were still here, though. People he could talk to like normal everyday human beings.

That was important to. And he needed it. Just as much as they suspected he did, and they wanted him as well.

"So, shall we make it official with a little challenge?" Ramon asked the two of them, picking up a spear. Tymas followed suit and then handed Lazaro one which he took cautiously in his hands, studying it, the weight, the length, and then the distance between here and the target.

"Closest person to the target wins." Tymas said, steadying himself.

"Wins what?" Lazaro stood by his side, anxious, but ready. He wouldn't be beat – he refused to be shamed this early on. But another part of him knew it didn't matter. Knew they wouldn't judge him if he sucked just as badly as they did.

"My eternal respect."

"What a wonderful prize," Ramon grinned, stood up to join them, and as a trio, they threw the spears forwards and straight into the targets.

It seemed they all sucked just as much as each other.

All spears clattered to the ground, and instead of worrying, instead of letting it get to them, they pretended that not knowing how to handle a weapon didn't matter.

Lazaro knew it did, but still, pretending was easy with two people like Ramon and Tymas. They took it, went with it, and that was that.

He liked it.

Being here, it made things easier.

And he needed easy, until it became difficult.

Until it became impossible.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm seeing a pattern now with these results, so I won't be having another poll with this chapter. Still, it's been great to hear what you've thought so far. These results are a little… different to what I was expecting. I think most people voted for their favourites and their own rather than who they really would think would make the finale, but hey that's alright, you get to vote on whoever you want.<strong>

**Results for predicted finalists:**

**1****st****: Rhaella Cresswell – 8 votes  
>2<strong>**nd****: Saira Carinne – 5 votes  
>3<strong>**rd****: Lucian St. Laurent + Tristian Fortier + Ramon Decker – 4 votes  
>4<strong>**th****: Vance Seymour + Henry Eris + Rayah Ausbern + Holly Branwell + Casimar Kaveli + Lazaro Aden – 3 votes  
>5<strong>**th****: Chip Flexan + Clarette Aamira + Jasper Ness + Chase Whittaker – 2 votes  
>6<strong>**th****: Arial Bold + Adley Proctor + Blaine Carrigan + Eliasi Vallis + Lexine Videl – 1 vote  
>7<strong>**th****: Sherina Harney + Tymas Romain + Noelani Lenoire + Therese Chaney – 0 votes**

* * *

><p><strong>Here's the beginning of training!<strong>

**As the chapters progress, I'll add alliances to the blog. Those confirmed so far will be up there shortly.**

**This chapter marks the halfway point of the second batch of tribute POVs. After four more, there will be another four more Capitol chapters which will deal with them from a different POV. And then the Games, so it's getting closer. A third of the way through the Capitol, really.**

**See you with the next day of training!**


	13. Hidden Away

**Chapter Thirteen.**

* * *

><p><strong>Training Day Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Rhaella Cresswell, 18 years old;<br>District Four Female.**

* * *

><p>Rhaella had decided she liked Saira.<p>

Although she kept back a bit, when Rhaella spoke with her, the girl was as much of a talker as she could be. It was good that she had opinions on her fellow allies, because Rhaella sure did. Strong opinions, in fact.

The main one being that this year would be fun. A load of fun.

Tristian would crumble eventually, Vance looked to her like he wanted to rip her head off - which was all part of the entertainment, Rayah had a vibe to her that reminded her of herself, but she was far more serious for her taste, and Henry was a cheerful midget who pined after Saira wherever she went.

It would definitely be fun.

She could see where things would fall into place, inner alliances forming, enemies killing one another, and how she could worm her way to the top of it all. Her attitude, her words, and her looks would get her there.

She'd perfected the strategy. It was all about putting it into place. First, building bridges with Saira, the dark horse of the pack.

It was working well enough.

"-and you think the three boys over there will be our biggest challenge?" Saira asked, pointing her finger at the group nearest to the climbing wall. Rhaella had no idea what their names were, she didn't care to be honest. They were an attractive bunch, and if this were another place and she had a different alliance, she was pretty sure they'd be good targets. Here, they were just more victims to take out.

Although it wasn't exactly the most exciting prospect, killing was just part of the package. She was willing to play the other parts of this game, so she was willing to contribute in that respect. Taking lives. It couldn't be too hard… hopefully.

"Vance can't stop looking at them like he smelt something bad. I just think we should keep an eye on them."

"And take them out in the bloodbath?" Saira grinned, shrugging her shoulders. To be honest, Rhaella was focusing so much on the affairs within the alliance, she couldn't really contribute to her opinions outside. Yes, they probably would be their biggest challenge. But right now, one of the biggest threats was standing right next to her, twirling a piece of her hair and laughing.

Saira kept to the shadows, but when someone was near her, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Rhaella knew girls like her. Girls that tried hard to be part of the group. She'd had those before, encountered them before.

They were always tricky to pin down because she could never tell what they were thinking.

She liked Saira. But she hated the mystery. She lied plenty herself, she didn't need someone calculating in the background to conflict with her own strategy.

"I think Tristian is looking for you anyway," she said, once again pointing out onto the floor. Rhaella looked around and saw her fellow District partner trying his hand with a spear, hurtling them towards the target with surprising precision.

Of course he knew how to wield a weapon. That's why Rhaella was so drawn to him- or pretended to be. Meat shields were all the rage in boyfriends back in Four. Other boys backed away if you had the tougher guy by your side, and all the girls fawned over you because you had the looks and strength all meshed into one person.

Rhaella flipped her hair over one shoulder, bid Saira a fond farewell, and walked towards Tristian. A part of her felt guilty that she made him feel uncomfortable, like she made him question things. She knew some volunteers truly did want to take this seriously in the most boring of ways.

Rhaella wanted to win more than anything. Death scared her. But that didn't mean she'd go about winning in the most generic way- the way he seemed to dedicate himself to.

She'd go about it the only way she really knew how. Her strengths lied in other means, not just her skill with a weapon.

"Tristy."

"Rhaella," he said, without so much as looking at her.

She tapped him on the shoulder to draw his attention. Rhaella knew he'd cave. He was a nice guy underneath all the edge, he didn't want to ignore her because he'd end up feeling bad if she pouted and started to walk away.

It was a classic tactic that worked wonders. Tristian – or Tristy as she liked to call him in person – fell for it every time.

"It's nice to see you train." She twirled a piece of hair round her finger, sticking out her lip. Out the corner of her eye she saw Vance giving her that stare he kept doing. If it wasn't for her, he'd have secured his place as leader.

For a boy so confident and charming, he was awfully immature when it came to these things. She offered him a wave and turned back to her real project. Tristian lowered the spear so the shaft was touching the ground and gave her a small smile. Probably the largest of the small smiles he'd given her since they'd first met with one another.

"Are you planning on training anytime soon Rhaella?"

"I'm training in my own way," she touched him on the shoulder again and tilted her head. His cheeks started to go an adorable shade to match the target he'd been throwing at. "Or there are other ways we could… work out."

Tristian swallowed, shaking his head nervously. "I think I'll stick to this."

"Only I'd be holding _your _spear_._" She winked.

Tristian's face literally looked like it was about to melt off. Rhaella repressed a giggle and continued to trace her fingers up his arm. She felt slightly degraded, but only slightly. After all, if this weren't in a life or death situation, most of the time she enjoyed this teasing anyway.

It was done harmlessly. It was done because she was a teenager and whilst she had the chance, she wanted to at least live like she was one.

Here, it was just done to a different degree. With different intentions. A different result in the future.

It didn't change anything.

This was still Rhaella.

"I think I'm going to get back to training. It was nice talking to you."

She giggled. "Suit yourself. See you tonight." With another wink, she sashayed away, back to Saira. The girl from One had been watching the entire thing from afar. Maybe she hadn't heard the words, but Rhaella almost wanted to slap the expression off her face.

Instead, she linked her arm through hers and pulled her towards Vance, who was now training with Rayah and a smirking Henry.

"You're a fun girl Rhaella."

"A girl tries."

Saira nodded, smiling. "A smart girl too. You know what you want."

"What I want is Tristian."

Saira nodded again, looked at her, and laughed. "Of course you do."

When she released her arm and moved towards Vance, training with him, Rhaella stood by herself and watched their little group. Saira was working things to her advantage in a way that Rhaella couldn't keep up with.

Henry and Rayah had their brutal strength.

Vance had his own attitude as well as what he could do with a weapon.

Rhaella knew, watching them, then looking back over at Tristian, that this was the best she could do. What she had to do.

A person couldn't hate her for doing what had to be done to survive? It was unfair to call her out for fighting in her own way.

Rhaella shook the doubt away, because she wouldn't doubt. She wouldn't be that kind of girl.

With a smile, she moved towards the group. Laughing, smiling and cheering with them, she asserted herself as someone to work with.

She needed them to see her as a capable ally.

Someone they didn't want to get rid of.

It was slowly working. Step by step, things would fall into place.

And then she'd win. It was the perfect plan. Her only plan.

* * *

><p><strong>Ramon Decker, 18 years old;<br>District Seven Male.**

* * *

><p>The kid was trying way too hard to fit in.<p>

Tymas gave the boy a look that told him to shut up. Ramon liked that about his friend – the fact that at the end of the day, he was the fun guy he hoped he was, but didn't put up with shit.

Blaine Carrigan spoke with such arrogance it made Ramon want to smack him round the face. He didn't of course. Instead he looked at Lazaro and tried to contain his laughter, because the boy from Ten literally had his fist clenched as the boy from Six went on about how he should be… _leader. _

_Fat chance, _Ramon thought, looking at the three boys surrounding him on all sides as he played with a knife. They wouldn't have a leader in this alliance.

And they wouldn't have him.

Tymas gave Blaine one more look, then switched eye contact to Ramon, then Lazaro. The three boys were in agreement the second he'd asserted himself into their circle with a confidence that made them all sick. It had been a minute since his arrival and he was already talking about what _he _could do, what _they _had to do for him.

Ramon stepped forwards, tapped the boy on the shoulder, and offered him the kindest smile he could fake.

"Blaine."

"District Seven."

Tymas laughed loudly. "You didn't tell me you were called District Seven."

"I've been lying to you."

All three boys started laughing. Ramon did his best to lay it on thick, clutching to Lazaro's shoulder, as he then forced himself to cry as he held his stomach. All three of them were in complete hysterics as poor, deluded Blaine looked at them all, turning round and round, frowning, balling his hands into fists, going bright red, and… leaving.

He stormed off. All three went still, pretend hysteria over.

"What a dick." Lazaro groaned.

"Just as I say we should look for someone else, we get Master Douche over there acting like… well, like that." Tymas waved the thought away. Ramon stood still and continued to chuckle quietly, his shoulders going up and down.

The three of them returned to training. It was true that they were looking for another ally. A quartet of older, outer District boys would sit well with sponsors. None of them were stupid to forget that the Careers would most likely target them from the off, but that didn't faze any of them.

Or at least, for the time being when they couldn't be killed, they pretended it didn't.

Ramon watched Tymas mess around with the bits of rope. Lazaro using metal hooks to fashion traps that fell apart the moment he knotted something the wrong way. Ramon felt a little out of place, but he said nothing, twirling the rope so he at least looked useful.

Neither of them knew what they were doing, but they were at least trying, they at least had some rough idea. Ramon didn't know things like this. He'd never been smart during his childhood so working out how to make the most complex of traps to… kill someone? Yeah, that was out of his league.

He was happy to watch with a smile, despite what it made him feel like.

A part of him felt disgusted that he wished he was back holding a spear like yesterday. They were weapons he'd be using to kill people. Kill teenagers. Kids. People that didn't deserve to be here just as much as he didn't.

They looked at him like he was different because he'd volunteered, but that didn't matter. He wanted to be with the weapons because they were simple- stab, throw, whatever. But he used the guilt to convince him that it was better to train at other stations too.

Observe people rather than just follow whoever was in front.

He wanted to actually be part of this team. A team of friends he really, truly, cared for. It was naïve of him to think that way when they were other tributes stopping him from returning to his family and Darien. But that didn't matter. They were still friends.

Before he could really let himself get down in a funk, a mood he hated to be in, someone approached the trio. All of them looked up, expecting Blaine to be back, but instead it was the boy from Five.

He had a grin on his face to match their own, only restrained a little. He looked at them all with something friendly in his eyes and motioned to the ground.

"Mind if I join?"

Ramon looked at Tymas and Lazaro. Both weren't the type to just cast him away without getting to know him, so they invited him down and all three turned to face the new arrival. He immediately grabbed some of the rope that they'd been working with and got to work fashioning something that Ramon especially couldn't get his head round.

He worked with a relaxed smile on his face, then, halfway through, looked at all three of them and laughed.

"I'm Chip Flexan. From the wonderful District Five."

"Wonderful?" Tymas shook his head. "The Districts aren't wonderful." He said it as he laughed, both of the boys joining in. It was true. No point sugar-coating oppression as something to be enjoyed.

Chip nodded, agreeing with them. "True, true. I just didn't want to come across as some depressive bore. Or an arrogant little idiot."

All three of them knew who he was talking about.

But it was Ramon who spoke up first. "You've been watching us?"

"I need an alliance. We all do."

"Blaine apparently more than most."

Chip waved his name away. It was unimportant. It should be forgotten. Ramon didn't like that. Yeah, he was annoying, yeah he was an idiot, but he was still one of them. A kid who shouldn't really be a tribute, forced to kill, die for entertainment.

He didn't like Chip. But the other two seemed hooked to his every word, so he went with it, smiling at the right places, agreeing when he said something he disagreed with because they were looking for an ally. And apparently they'd found it.

"Do you have a leader?"

They shook their heads in unison. "We don't believe one of us should take control when all three of us are just as capable." Lazaro replied.

Chip seemed content with the answer, smiling his understanding. "Smart. Well, if you'd take me, I'd love to join."

"Should we discuss it?" Ramon smiled at his fellow allies – his fellow friends. Tymas caught the look Ramon was giving him and seemed almost inclined to do so, but at the end of the day, that wasn't Tymas. He was a fun guy, but he didn't do those kinds of talks.

He was good with people, he could bring the best out of them, but he didn't want to really believe that someone from a District that weren't in favour of the Capitol would have a different intention. That they couldn't think or feel or act like they did.

"You're in Chip Flexan." Tymas offered him a hand, and in turn, Ramon and Lazaro did the same. He wanted to appear friendly, Ramon made that his mission, but everything felt off.

He liked it when it was just them three.

Then he felt the same guilt, because maybe Chip was a normal kid looking for someone like Ramon had been. Ramon didn't want to experience himself as someone he didn't want to be. He wanted to win, but he didn't want to go about it seeing a threat in every laugh.

It was important he kept himself calm.

He wanted to have fun for as long as fun could last. He wanted this to all feel natural.

If Chip was their new ally, he'd make himself feel that way. No matter what.

"Boys, I think we've got this in the bag." Tymas said. All agreed, Chip more enthusiastically than Ramon or Lazaro.

It had been a trio. Now it was four of them, fighting for the same outcome. Not all of them would _have it in the bag. _

Only one.

And that scared Ramon.

It terrified him.

He wanted it to be him, but at what cost?

* * *

><p><strong>Noelani Lenoire, 17 years old;<br>District Nine Female.**

* * *

><p>They'd agreed they wouldn't be allies. On the very first day, District Nine had sat down and formulated a plan, and that plan didn't include teamwork. But that didn't mean neither of them liked the other. In fact, since training had begun all Noelani and Casimar had done was stick together.<p>

Because Noelani, as much as she liked to feel she had control of the situation, was slowly starting to come apart. Casimar had an essence to him, a strength that helped her anchor her mind to sanity and she wanted that. She _needed _that.

"So, we're meant to cut apart those?" Noelani gestured with a hesitant smile at the stuffed dummy in front. It was pale white, from head to toe, cut into the shape of a human but with nothing resembling a real person whatsoever. Noelani felt a cold sweat creep along her brow, worm its way down her palm and to her fingers, but she ignored the nerves.

She wouldn't just lie down and ignore what had to be done. Maybe it was a terrible situation to be in, but that didn't matter. As much as Noelani was scared of the future, the present she could handle. And when the Games began, they'd be in the present, so she'd handle them too.

It was about taking it step by step. That's all she could think about. Minute after minute.

"I can go first if you want?" Casimar offered. Noelani looked at him and for a moment and nearly shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of the only person she'd actually spoken to since this had started. Would he judge her? But then she reminded herself they weren't allies and ignored that.

They were just friends. Friends didn't judge. Noelani tried her best not to look at him and think about what he hid underneath his strong exterior, so she hoped he wasn't doing the same. What he'd uncover she hated to think about- the Noelani she wanted him to see was this Noelani. She smiled, she laughed, but she was calm, poised and tried to keep the tears away.

That was important.

Stopping herself from crying. Otherwise she might never stop.

Casimar took her silence as an invitation to begin hacking away at the dummy. He took big chunks out of the cotton with each strike, red tufts meant to resemble blood sticking out of the wounds and falling to the floor in grisly spirals.

Noelani bit her bottom lip as Casimar started to slow down. _Blood, blood… blood. _She looked at herself, then at Casimar, and imagined the two of them bleeding like this dummy. What it would feel like… what came after?

A shiver ran down her spine and it took all she could not to cry out. Casimar turned just in time to see her calm down, Noelani replacing the terrified frown with another smile.

Smiles were easier to fake than anything else. And she wanted Casimar to feel comfortable around her. She didn't want to be a burden on anyone- she was more than happy to take the pain off of someone else's shoulders than have them deal with her baggage.

It made her old life, and this new life, so much easier.

"I think someone's watching you." Casimar's gentle whisper distracted Noelani from her thoughts- like someone talking always did. Noelani looked over her shoulder and saw the young man look away, blushing red.

He had a knife in his hands, surrounding himself with the dummies like they were, hacking away and glancing over at Noelani again, no doubt hoping she wasn't staring. She was, and immediately blushed herself, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

"You should go over to him," Casimar grinned, winking. "Come on. It'd do you good to have someone."

"I'm not sure…" Noelani said, her brow furrowing. She thought through it, looking over at him again. He seemed strong enough. And he looked kind of nice- from a distant glance anyway. It was hard to tell. But then again, Noelani needed to get to know him before she could judge someone instantaneously.

Otherwise she'd just expect the same back, and she hated that. The silent eyes of someone as they assessed her, criticising her. She wouldn't do that to this boy. And Casimar was right. It would be good to have someone.

If District Nine weren't a team, then she could be with another tribute.

"Play nice," Casimar said quietly, as Noelani turned to walk away.

"I'll try."

"I'm kidding," he said, waving her away with a smile. "He'll love you."

_I hope so._

He turned around just as she stopped behind him. Noelani felt awkward standing there, and she could sense he felt the exact same way.

His eyes nervously moved to her own and he offered a shaky smile. "I'm Chase. Chase Whittaker. Er… District Twelve, if that's… important to you."

"Noelani Lenoire. District Nine." She'd seen people offer handshakes before, when meeting someone, so she thought that might be the best thing to do now. Extending her arm, Chase looked at it and smiled again, a little bit brighter this time, taking it and moving his own up and down.

"So, knives huh? Is that your speciality?" Noelani jumped straight into conversation. A morbid topic sure, but their new world was a darker place than she'd come from, so it felt right to speak like this.

Chase didn't seem to mind. That was good. She didn't want to put him off- she liked him, for some strange reason, in these first few seconds. Quiet, but not silent. He listened like she did. They'd get along.

"To be honest I'm not that skilled with weaponry." Chase's shoulders sank. "Guess my chances are…"

"…the same as everyone else's. Come on, don't think like that. I'm not." _I am. The chances of me surviving?... I'd hate to even think about them. _But Noelani ignored that and edged up closer, moving for the rack and taking her own knife in her hand.

"We could train together if you like?"

Chase looked at her, Noelani seeing his eyes widen for a split second, before a more relaxed expression settled across his face. "I'd love to. Maybe we could…?" He drifted off, frowning.

But Noelani jumped in, because the unspoken invitation was too tempting to ignore. And it would do her good, in the Games, to be by his side. Was it selfish of her to use him just so she could feel normal herself? She hoped not. He looked strong. He wouldn't weigh her down, like she hoped she'd never burden another person in return.

She saw them lasting, together, and that made her smile. It made her excited.

It gave her hope.

"I'll be your ally." Noelani turned to face the dummy, side by side with Chase. He steadied his own grip, and together they advanced. It made Noelani scared to see what she could do with such a thing in her hand, but with someone by her side, the fear felt a little less… terrifying.

A little less real.

If she could pretend for some time, she could act like things were alright. When it came to it, she'd play it seriously. She'd be the tribute she knew she had inside of her. But for now, she had an ally, maybe a friend, and that was all she cared about.

All she needed.

Someone to be with.

A friend.

* * *

><p><strong>Another day of training!<strong>

**I hope you're all enjoying this story as it goes. I'm trying to not just focus on the POV characters but others around them as well, so each tribute gets a bit more of an identity. I think that's important xD**

**But yeah, only one more training day to go. I've changed my format again for some of the later Capitol chapters, but you'll see more of it when I reach that point.**

**Enjoy!**


	14. Maybe

**Chapter Fourteen.**

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><p><strong>Training Day Three.<strong>

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><p><strong>Saira Carinne, 18 years old;<br>District One Female.**

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><p>Whenever Henry smiled, Saira smiled.<p>

Whenever he laughed, she laughed.

And whenever he wanted to talk with her, she talked to him.

They only had hours to go before the end of training, but Saira felt like the past three days had gone much better than they could have. Much better than she'd hoped. Although her fellow allies were not the people she thought they'd be, a part of her had managed to swallow down whatever restraint she had and attach herself to each in turn.

Vance didn't mind her, externally at least. Rayah nodded whenever she was nearby. Rhaella and Saira were like classic best friends, giggling, chatting and bitching. Tristian was Tristian, he acknowledged her, he spoke fondly of his fellow allies, and Saira respected that of him. And then there was Henry.

Henry Eris.

Saira knew his type – knew his type better than anyone. That's why she felt drawn to him in the same way he must have felt drawn to her. Both of them were on the same wavelength in the sense of how useful their allies were, how useful each other was, and how useful as individuals they could be.

They were currently standing side by side, holding a bow each with an arrow notched in the string. Neither of them was a good shot, but it was still important amongst all these personality games to get some real weapon training in.

Especially because of the future Saira predicted- the turn her alliance would take early on. She'd made sure she had good ties with everyone, and made sure Henry's devotion was blossoming into unquestionable loyalty. The group was at a tense stage without a leader, but that made it even better, because they were at a stalemate.

No one but Rayah and Henry really disliked each other, but there was animosity in the air anyway because everyone was doubting the loyalty of one another.

Saira played on that because she could.

She'd secured loyalty with everyone to different degrees depending on the person, and now, she was comfortable to be herself more than anything.

Maybe it seemed fake. But it wasn't. She genuinely did like being around other people – they were interesting, like she hoped she was interesting back.

People were curious.

They made life exciting.

"First one to go from the Pack?" Henry immediately jumped into a rather random question. For a moment, Saira stood still, raising an eyebrow. But then he smirked a smirk she'd gotten used to and returned it, giggling lightly.

"I don't doubt any of them-"

"-But when it comes to it? Come on Saira. Don't be that girl. Who's gonna kick the bucket first?"

"Kick the bucket?" Saira laughed again. Henry did the same thing. In a way, he repulsed Saira, everything he stood for was twisted in the wrong direction. Both wanted to win, but both wanted to win by doing the same thing in completely different ways.

Still, she found him endearing in a sense. Like she found the whole room endearing. Everyone had their quirks, their attitudes and their distinctive voices to lend to this year's Games. Saira was making her mark in the shadows, really.

Because they didn't see her for her. They saw Saira as the girl they wanted to see. And that was good, because the real her wanted to smile and laugh, but the real her wanted nothing more than to just get to the killing so she could win and move on with her life.

That wasn't really what her fellow allies wanted though.

Saira came off like she had no ulterior motives because that's the way she wanted to come across. It was working, especially with Henry.

The younger boy shrugged his shoulders, chuckling as he released the arrow. It hit a few rings away from the centre. He frowned, but Saira tapped him on the shoulder, shaking her head.

"Don't be upset. That was good."

"If it was a moving target they wouldn't be dead."

Saira laughed again, because laughing seemed to work on him. "When it counts, you'll make your mark. Don't doubt yourself."

"Yeah you're right."

"I try," she said, shooting her own arrow. It hit a little closer to the centre, which Saira was pleased with, and Henry clapped accordingly. Although he might have doubted himself, Saira could tell he didn't want her to dislike him, so his enthusiasm bordered on… insanity.

But he was insane anyway. That was another thing she could tell.

Rhaella didn't want Tristian in the way she acted like she did, and he just wanted things to go according to a strict plan that would never work. Rayah tried to be a person she wasn't. Vance was holding in secrets that weren't secrets – masking things that were plain to everyone. And then Henry was this, a little bundle of giggles because he actually couldn't wait to kill.

Saira had pinpointed each characteristic that summed up her allies.

It was the best way of moving forward.

Her way of winning.

"So yeah, answer my question. First person to die?"

"You're a chipper guy aren't you? Don't you like our allies?"

Both of them laughed. Henry made a face, shrugging his shoulders at that, like he was doubting them really. Of course he would. No one else mattered in the long run to him. Except Saira, now. Except the only person he'd fight for other than himself.

She felt guilty for that.

But it was useful.

"I think each of them are… different. I hate who some of them are trying to be, or really are if I have to be honest. Vance tries too hard. Tristian tries too little. Rhaella is at least honest with herself. And Rayah is as fake as that makeup on her face."

"You really don't like her do you?"

"What's to like?" Henry's voice took on more of a whining tone. Saira braced herself for a spiel about every character flaw the girl from Two had, but instead of pointing out the things she knew anyway, Henry laughed and readied another arrow.

"I'll go first. In my honest opinion, the first person to fall will be Vance."

_Really? _She felt a twinge of horror at the thought of him dying. Then when she thought about that, thought about how absurd it was to even feel that way, she shook the feeling off. Vance had done nothing but smile and act charming, when he probably felt nothing too sincere towards her.

Why should she care about him dying?

_Because, really, I don't want anyone to die. I don't. _They would. And Saira was prepared to kill, see death, and do what had to be done. Clearly, she was already within the alliance and what she'd twisted to her advantage.

But nothing made it easier.

Hearing him say Vance, it hurt like she expected. And hurt led to doubt. And doubt led to loss.

She refused to let it swallow her whole.

"I agree."

Saira said it to end the conversation. She didn't want to talk about that just yet. She'd thought about it, but thoughts seemed to take on a whole new meaning when spoken out loud. Maybe that was why she bordered on pretend with other people, because what she really felt would crumble her strength if she ever spoke her opinions.

She did like her allies, honestly she did. And she disliked them too. But she kept that at bay to be a good, friendly person to them. It was easier than the truth because the truth was painful.

And in the Hunger Games, pain led to death.

Saira refused to die.

She looked at Henry, saw what she was doing to him, what he was doing for her, and tried to accept it. Enjoy it.

Or at least, put up with it.

This was the Saira she really was.

A Saira that struggled, but a Saira that fought anyway.

It was the Saira she needed. The girl that would win.

Saira, the Victor.

* * *

><p><strong>Sherina Harney, 16 years old;<br>District Seven Female.**

* * *

><p>When Sherina met Therese, there'd been something there. Something that clicked.<p>

When Sherina and Therese met Arial, the same thing happened, something that enticed Sherina to accept the alliance invitation.

Now, the girl from Six was throwing knives next to the trio, smiling timidly and chatting with them, shy, but not silent, and Sherina couldn't make up her mind. She didn't want to be cruel and judge based on nothing more than a few words, gentle stares, and a cute smile.

But there was something – something Therese had disliked about Arial, and tensed up when near Holly Branwell. But Arial being Arial, saw nothing but the girl before her, and Sherina would not be the kind of person to cast someone away based on nothing more than… intuition.

_Besides, if things turn out bad we can always… kill her. _Sherina laughed the thought away, walking closer to Holly's side, pulling out her own knife and aiming for the target.

She was trying, really trying. Therese and Sherina had practiced since they'd met on day one with all sorts of weapons, and ever since their bubbly co-leader Arial joined, they hadn't stopped. Sherina admired her spirit.

Mainly because Sherina herself sometimes didn't really feel all that connected with her allies. Not that she didn't like them, and not that she didn't want them to like her back, but mainly because she couldn't help but feel putting distance between them was better. Smarter.

She looked once over at Therese, offering her the same sort of smile the two had given one another since meeting, and felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach. She offered the same gesture back but couldn't help but feel their relationship was more one-sided. Therese might sacrifice a lot for Sherina, but would she do the same?

She knew the answer, but refused to admit it.

Therese was a friend. But how much of a friend, she had no idea. And Arial… well Arial was everything Sherina tried to be without having to actually try.

It made her jealous.

It made her guilty.

It made her sad.

But Holly, she was a new mystery. So as much as she doubted this new arrival, she was more curious than anything to actually get to know the girl.

"Have you packed much training in over the three days?"

"I've done some things, here and there," Holly had a gentle sort of voice, the kind of tone that chimed through the air and made Sherina smile. She seemed kind. Almost frail. Weak. Alarms were going off inside her head that _weak _would not do them any justice.

She ignored that.

"Mainly I've been searching for some allies. It's day three now and I've wanted to really, well, you know, get to know the competition."

"Competition." Sherina said the word matter-of-factly. Although it unnerved her, such a sweet girl seeing other sweet girls – Therese and Arial, maybe not her – as the competition. Sherina knew they were all obstacles, all part of the contest, but somehow she couldn't see any of them really proving much of a threat.

That was another thing that scared her.

If they could be useful or not. If they really were the right allies for her, or if, once again she'd made a mistake with the choices she'd made. But she stuck to it – trying to be reliable for once. Trying to stick to the promises she'd made.

If she was going to die, she wanted to die feeling satisfied she hadn't spent the last few days of her life dwelling on things that couldn't be fixed. Being the person she hated to be.

Sherina threw the knife at the same time as Holly. Both of them missed the targets, but neither seemed to care. Or at least Sherina smothered her anger under another smile, to which Holly mirrored eagerly, the two turning to face Arial and Therese.

"It's a bit risky don't you think? Having such a big alliance." Therese tried to appear friendly to Holly, but really when her cheeks twitched into a smile, a spasm ran across her face and she stepped backwards, going bright red.

Therese cared a lot. But that's why she must have been hesitant. Because she cared about Sherina and Arial, didn't want anything bad to happen to them, so she acted like this.

"Three, four, who cares?" Arial turned to face Holly. "Got anything to bring to the crew?"

"The crew?" Sherina laughed. Arial nodded eagerly, her hair bouncing with her frantic movements. If Sherina thought she acted a little over the top sometimes, she obviously thought that before meeting a girl like Arial.

She sort of admired her spirit. And the fact that earlier, when Lucian had said something when they sat near to him, she'd almost exploded in his face. She had fire just as much as kindness.

Maybe they would get far, after all.

_Maybe. _

"Well, Holly? Sell yourself."

Sherina turned to the poor girl, eyes wide, lip trembling. "I-I," she stammered, fingers nervously tapping away together.

"What Arial means to say is, what can you bring to our alliance. It doesn't have to be anything major. I can't do anything with a weapon. Therese is better at survival stations. And, well, Arial…"

"…brings the kapow," Arial said it herself, giggling.

Holly seemed to be easing herself into the conversation at least. And with a tentative step forwards, she pat down a crease in her training top and gestured to the knives.

"I can't throw. I'm lousy with a sword. I can't even tell a berry you can eat from a berry that will burn your stomach. But I think what I can bring is what I see in you three, the idea of companionship. Loyalty. Everything I think builds an alliance up to be greater than they really are."

Arial, Therese and Sherina stared at her as she spoke. The other two hooked, Sherina feeling more and more guilty as she spoke. She'd doubted a girl like this, a girl who spoke of qualities Sherina hungered for herself, but never seemed to find in her life because she always overthought every situation she was ever in.

If a person was good, if a person was bad. If she was good, if she was bad.

It never ended.

"I mean, we're not from any of the Career districts, so we're never going to have complete Capitol favour. We need to stand out, and I think an alliance of four girls, four girls from Districts that never make their mark, can do that. Because we can do it together."

That was really all Arial needed to hear.

Maybe all Therese needed to hear.

And definitely what Sherina needed to hear.

It was a boost, an encouragement, a push in the right direction when Sherina doubted if they really could do anything in the Arena. Maybe Holly was right, maybe together, just because they were weak, they stood a chance because they had just that... they had the girls around them.

They had support.

And that was really all Sherina wanted to give, as hard as it had always been.

She wanted to help people, like they helped her.

"You're in. Go team!"

Sherina rolled her eyes, grinning as all girls embraced. "You really need to stop saying that."

"Bite me."

Again, they laughed.

But really, this felt right, it felt like Sherina had the chance she wanted. The chance she needed.

A chance to prove a point to herself, and others around her. That's all she craved. To be herself without having to try so hard.

This was where it started.

Where things got better.

* * *

><p><strong>Clarette Aamira, 16 years old;<br>District Ten Female.**

* * *

><p><em>Why does he have to be so tall…? <em>Clarette grumbled to herself. _Or better yet, why am I so damn tiny? _

It was stupid of her to put so much stock in her height, and the height of the boy who was approaching her, but still, people got it wrong all the time. Size does matter.

In more ways than one.

When he reached her, his smile unnerved Clarette. Not that she didn't see the benefit of perhaps having an older, stronger ally – if that's what he wanted, of course – but because people hid things with their sugary sweet smiles.

Maybe that was why Clarette tried not to smile much. Or if she did, her smiles did in fact hide things. _Or maybe I shouldn't base other people on my own attitude. _Still, Clarette stood with one hand on her hip, cold-faced, staring at him when he extended a hand.

"You made quite the impression back in the Chariots." He brushed the back of his head with the hand she'd rejected, grinning awkwardly.

Clarette stifled a laugh and shrugged. "People have told me that."

"Why'd you do it? Do you like to piss off the people in control of your life?"

"I'm in control of my life." Clarette said it stubbornly, even though it was only half true. Sure, if it came down to a fight, if she gave it her all, then she'd be exacting control over the situation. But that didn't matter in the long run.

Mainly it was down to luck.

Or impressions.

She laughed dryly when the boy continued to just stare at her. "I was told to stand out. What more could I have done?"

"Smile?"

Clarette forced the grin into her face, like the tributes she'd seen when recapping the event. The tributes, like the young man in front of her, who were willing to disregard dignity for their safety. Clarette silently hated herself for being so stubborn, so set in her ways, but that was just her.

She wouldn't back down just because someone told her what the smartest thing was to do. Smart or not, if it wasn't who she was, then she refused to do it.

If it got her killed, then… so be it.

_Do I really want to die, though? _Casimar, the boy from Nine laughed back. _No I don't. _But she didn't want to be like him – or any of the others.

They were falling for something she'd fought against all her life.

She'd be damned if the Capitol could get her to change.

"Did you want something?"

"Are you in a rush?"

Clarette looked at her wrist, void of a watch, and tapped it, smirking. "I've got an appointment with a sword so make it quick."

"Think I can tag-a-long?"

She gave him a once over with her eyes, up and down. Sure he looked tough, and sure with it being the last day of training, she was pretty much one of the only tributes yet to secure an alliance. It was her, Casimar, the boy from Three and the annoying shit from Six.

Just them four, and now she had Casimar in front of her. Part of Clarette felt like telling him to scram, that she didn't need someone. Part of her nearly did. But that part wouldn't control her just yet, because deep down Clarette did need somebody.

In Ten she'd fought so much to be away from her controlling family that she surrounded herself with as many people as she could – people she couldn't usually stand.

Casimar, though, felt different. Maybe his smiles were real. Maybe they weren't like hers. Maybe they would work out.

"If you're looking for a nice girl be with your District partner. She's all lips and eyelashes. Fluttering them for that dull brick she's with."

"Don't be rude about Noelani," Casimar said, frowning. Clarette stepped back, but genuinely started to laugh. It was good to see a bit of fire, he wasn't a pushover at least, he had some fight which would do the pair a whole world of good come the Arena.

"So why aren't you with Little Miss Nice Girl?"

"Because…" he bit his lip, mumbling something to the ground.

"My face is up here, not down there." She clicked her fingers. He looked up again, sighing, then glanced towards the girl in question, with the plain-faced boy from Twelve.

"If I'm going to get anywhere in the Games I need someone who can at least… fight."

Clarette appreciated the indirect compliment, even if her face didn't quite match up to the way she felt. She only raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Maybe she wasn't the _nice _girl he had in a District partner, but that's what she needed him to know if this was going to work.

She was Clarette and Clarette acted the way she'd always done, whether someone enjoyed it or not, her life was her own and that was that.

"You're a midget but you look like you have bite."

She went red, stepping up to him, peering into his eyes with a curled lip. "Midget huh?" He tapped her head, grinning. It took all her self-control to keep her fist to herself, motionless by her hip as he started to laugh, moving backwards an inch or so.

"I need an ally that will get me places in the Games. As brilliant as Noelani is, as much as we get along, I can't be with her in there. I don't want to see her get hurt."

"But you're perfectly fine seeing little ol' me in pain?"

"That's the thing. You seem like you'd be better at avoiding pain. That's what I need. Someone who has a chance."

_Do I really have a chance…? _Clarette started to blush, cursing herself silently for acting so… vulnerable. He saw through her, she could tell. He saw the way she really felt, and Clarette couldn't tell whether or not she enjoyed that. People had always either stepped all over her, or went with her because the alternative was a slap to the face.

Or a bottle to the back of the head.

That was just her life. And it was hard to get out of that shell, because it'd been who she was for sixteen years. Maybe with Casimar she could adapt – not change, though, never change – for the better. Win as herself, without losing what she valued more than anything.

"If you're going to get all sappy you can fuck off."

He raised his hands. "I promise I'll keep a distance. But do we have a deal?"

"Allies. Not friends. You said it yourself, you aren't with Noelani because she's the sort of girl who'll form that kind of connection and then get hurt. I can't be dealing with that shit. Not that sort of commitment," she realised she was shaking, peering to the ground, she tried to hide the fact her cold shell was cracking, "allies, not friends."

"Allies," he extended his hand again, this time Clarette shaking it back, "not friends."

"Then we have a deal."

_I have an ally. _Casimar from Nine.

Clarette from Ten.

Would it work? She hoped so. And if it didn't, then it wasn't meant to be. She didn't want someone because she wanted to connect before the inevitable happened, she wanted an ally because it was logical, smart. It was beneficial.

Or, at least that's what she told herself.

If that was in fact what she really felt, even she didn't know.

But it was better this way. Better to deny the truth.

Better to hold back, because giving everything led to pain. And Clarette refused to be hurt. She refused to back down, no matter the consequences.

No matter the price.

* * *

><p><strong>Confirmed alliancesloners are on the blog, but just to clarify, here they are as well:**

**The Careers  
>Arial + Holly + Sherina + Therese<br>Chip + Ramon + Tymas + Lazaro  
>Adley + Lexine<br>Eliasi + Jasper  
>Casimar + Clarette<br>Noelani + Chase  
>Lucian<br>Blaine**

* * *

><p><strong>So, the bae felicitea drew something for this story and it's on my profile. I LOVE IT SO YOU HAVE TO CHECK IT OUT I'M STILL SO EXCITED SOMEONE DID SOMETHING LIKE THAT FOR ME AW. Ok yeah, enjoy looking at perfection.<strong>

**But yes this chapter marks the end of training. Two more chapters where we deal with the remaining tributes, and then some other stuff, then the Games! Woop!**

**Until then!**

**Oh, and if I reach the 200 review mark with this chapter, a massive thanks to everyone! And if not, still, thanks for all your support.**


	15. Make our Mark

**Chapter Fifteen.**

* * *

><p><strong>Private Gamemaker Sessions.<strong>

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><p><strong>Lucian St. Laurent, 17 years old;<br>District Three Male.**

* * *

><p>Arial swung her legs back and forth, looking at Lucian. "I'm sorry for shouting at you yesterday."<p>

"It is what it is."

"Still, I'm sorry." Arial bit her lip, frowning. Lucian tried to ignore the way she made him uncomfortable. The way she annoyed him. Whilst he'd done everything he could to just go through the entire training process with minimum fuss, it was like she'd made it her life's mission to make the most noise possible.

And piss off everyone around her. "It is what it is."

"Lucian," Arial prodded him in the shoulder, her frown twisting into something a bit nastier. "I'm apologising."

"I didn't ask you to."

"Wow," she stood up, flinging her hair over her shoulder. Her eyes which had a second ago been sad, were now full of a fire Lucian suspected she'd always had inside her. He sort of liked it – the change a girl like her could go through. "You're an asshole."

He shrugged. _So what? _He wasn't exactly here to make people like him. He was here because he was forced against his will – so now, he was here to win. What was the point in petty relationships? Arial seemed to think they made a difference in the long run.

Was it insensitive of him to act this way? Maybe. Did he care? No. "Nice talking to you Arial."

"Good luck in there," she turned to go, "break a leg." And with that, Lucian was left to himself. The way he liked it.

Arial probably thought that underneath this exterior Lucian had, there was something warm and tender to cajole out until it dealt with this coldness. That wasn't true, and Lucian sort of found it funny how she expected that of him.

Really, he just couldn't care less what she thought about him. And to be honest, he enjoyed her reactions, they humoured him.  
>Lucian knew, more than anyone else, that he wasn't someone people like Arial, or people in general, could get along with. That didn't change anything – and if it affected him, he'd buried that doubt years ago. Really, he just wanted to get into the Arena, see if he could make an impact, see if had a chance, and deal with that.<p>

These petty affairs of looking good, training, making friends and then going in front of the Capitol once more, were tedious. Bothersome. In fact, they made him angry.

He still hoped he could at least do something well worth his time in the room today. He'd at least tried during training to adapt to the situation. It was funny he was trying, because coming in, it'd been so hard to decide whether or not he'd commit or wouldn't.

It had mainly been down to his parents, and now, meeting the other tributes, their own incessant need for approval made him want to stand up and fight. Just to show off that he could do something, to show off that you didn't need to smile, laugh and make people like you to have a good shot at winning this thing.

"Lucian St. Laurent." The robotic voice droned out from a speaker. People perked up at the sound and looked at him. He stared back, robotic like the woman who said their names, and then turned to go. He took quick, confident strides, trying to at least appear somewhat impressive.

After all, appearances didn't matter in trying to get people to like you, but to _respect _you? It was good to have that. Good to stamp your name in some way.

The training room was much larger now that everything but a few racks of weapons had been emptied out. Dummies were tethered to railings, some of the survival stations had been moved closer to where the Gamemakers sat, observing. The majority of the items here were the things that could kill people – the swords, knives, spears, axes, whatever.

Lucian moved for the rope after announcing his name. He made some nets, knotting together certain strands here and there. It wasn't anything significantly spectacular right now – from a viewing point, he was sure they were bored, but Lucian didn't care about that at the moment.

He poured his attention into the trap he was making. It worked efficiently, he threw a bit of stone into the pile of leaves he'd made up from the camouflage station, with the makeshift trees, and a rope snatched up, tightening round air.

"If it were a person, and on a much larger scale, they'd be trapped in my trap." He chuckled to the Gamemakers. When they didn't respond, save for a few murmurs here and there and a smile from the Head Gamemaker, Lucian moved for the knives.

Not that he had any expertise with a knife, but he might as well show them something the shallow morons wanted to see. To make up the time at least, it was awfully boring here. Arial would be after him, and then up on their floor she'd probably make more apologies to him, forgetting her temper, and Lucian would react the same.

It entertained him a twisted way – how such little words could get such big reactions. That was mainly why he'd stepped back and ignored the prospect of allies. First, because he didn't need someone burdening him with their thoughts, wishes, dreams, emotions and whatnot. Second, because from a loner's perspective, he'd be able to scope out people and work out how to play them in the actual Arena.

He knew the perfect way of getting Arial to crack come the pressure of the Games. And the Careers, well it was pretty obvious where their alliance faults were.

He was fascinated by what he could do to them – what he could break, who he could hurt. Not because he necessarily enjoyed hurting, but because he enjoyed the fact he could do it.

It was the knife that bothered him. He wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the physical aspect to inflicting pain. He gripped the handle, moved for the dummies, and started to repeatedly slice at them. He made his mark at least, most of them were cut into ribbons by the end of his display, and he'd weaved in and out like they were moving targets to at least act like he was in the Arena with real opponents.

"That will be all Lucian."

"Will it?" he looked at them, dropping the knife through his fingers. The Head Gamemaker smiled, nodding and gesturing to the door. "Enjoy Gamemaker-ing. Bet it's thrilling."

He walked away, hands by his sides, eyes forward and through the door. He passed Arial, who offered him a shaky smile, obviously guilty already. He pretended not to see it and went straight for the elevator.

Honestly, he didn't want to be cocky, but he was confident enough in himself. They were all tied to people, tied to their morality, tied to themselves. Lucian was just ready.

He was ready to fight and do what had to be done, even if some of it would be entertaining, and some of it dreadful.

It didn't bother him.

And if it did, well, he ignored that and went on anyway.

_The quicker this is over, the better. _He pressed a button and shot up to the District Three quarters. Tomorrow, the interviews. The next day, the Games.

Soon, it'd be here.

In a weird way, he couldn't wait.

No more pretending.

It would be about survival. Lucian could do that. He could cope with the most basic instinct humanity had within them. _Two more days. _He smiled. It was nearly time.

* * *

><p><strong>Chip Flexan, 16 years old;<br>District Five Male.**

* * *

><p>His alliance had decided to stick with their District partners today. Chip had his hands over one knee, Adley to his side, an empty space on the other.<p>

Though other people might have been unnerved having the girl from Four nearly touching his shoulder, Chip embraced the moment. Not that they talked, or even acknowledged the other. But still, Chip was learning a lot here.

Learning not just how his allies ticked, or little pathetic Adley, but how the other, stronger competitors did. He had his main goal of pulling apart his alliance, working in and out of each of them until there was nothing left, but he was still determined to get to know the other tributes.

How he could bring them down too, until nothing was left but Chip himself, glorious, as the Victor.

But first, the present. He looked at Adley and offered her an encouraging smile. Though the younger girl tried her best to appear reasonably confident, her knees were shaking and knocking against one another, her bottom lip a ruin, and her eyes nearly misting with nervous tears.

"I just don't think I can do it, Chip. Lexine won't be able to manage, and me… well…"

"Come on," he bumped her with his shoulder, smiling down at her flushed face. "You told me about how you were always there for your friends, even if they weren't. How you didn't let their lives stop you from trying to make a difference."

"I know, and I'll always be there for her, but-"

"-but there's only one winner." He nodded with a sigh. _Yeah, only one winner little bitch. And it's going to be me. _Chip thought about what he could potentially to do Adley, if he had to, or if her dream-ridden ally got in his path. He wanted to maintain what he was showing his fellow allies for as long as possible, until he'd properly gotten to know each of them inside out, but if they did cross paths…

He imagined killing the little girl and felt nothing. Why would he? He'd done it before. No one suspected anything, not then, not now. It made no difference where the location was. Chip was just too good at this act. Too good at playing pretend.

"But anyway, I don't want to make it all about me." Adley's voice took on a forced, more cheerful tone. "How are you and your alliance doing?"

"We're hanging on," he said, peering over at Ramon, who was hurriedly talking to Sherina. He didn't see anything in any of their District partners. Sherina was useless. Eliasi an idiot. And Clarette… well, Clarette had potential. She might have been fun as an ally, but nowhere near as much as the ones he had chosen.

They were so animated in such a depressing situation. That's what excited Chip. He wanted to work out why, so he could pull that optimism apart and eventually, when the time was right, show them how life really worked.

And then laugh, because he liked laughing. His real laughs. Not these bullshit pretend ones he made them see. His own, joyful laughs.

"Chip Flexan."

Adley and Chip both looked up at the speaker at the exact same time. Two of the Careers were still on the bench, and when one of them asked if Rhaella, as she swayed out from the training room, wanted to join, she declined politely and glared at the other tributes all the way down to the elevator.

If she was trying to come off impressive, it wasn't working. Chip held back a snort. If that was really one of the best Panem had to offer, this country really needed to get their shit together.

"I'll see you soon." Adley hugged him round the waist. He beamed down at her, outwardly happy, inwardly repressing the vomit that burned his throat.

_Pathetic._

When she unwrapped her arms, Chip moved for the doors. Once inside, he went straight for the weapons. He wasn't the best with them, nor were any of his allies, but together they were competent enough. None of them wanted to throw their performances in favour of appearing weak, the fact they were one of the largest non-Career alliances made them stand out anyway.

At least they were smart in that respect. Sometimes he doubted his allies' capability to actually use their brains.

"I'm Chip Flexan. District Five."

One of the more rotund of the Gamemakers grinned down at him. "We know. That's why we called you."

"Sorry," Chip bowed his head, moving for the knives. With his head twisted the other way, he went bright red, seething with hidden anger. _Fat bitch. _He decided to envisage her face on the dummy when he went to attack it. One cut to the throat, one to the chest, and in a matter of seconds he'd turned to the Gamemakers, the dummy tattered with red cotton draped over the fabric.

"Two places they'll bleed out rather quickly. Or, if you'd rather a… slower death. Well," he moved to the next dummy, chose a smaller, sharper blade and went to town on it, cutting slices on the legs, arms and stomach.

A living, breathing human would be in complete agony, but they wouldn't die. He smiled as he continued to work. The dummy took on Adley's form in his mind, and Chip halted for a moment, tilting his head. _If this was Adley, what would I do? _He shrugged and continued cutting.

It didn't matter what imbecile got in his way – Career, or stupid little girl – they'd still fall to the same fate.

The fun was in the delivery, and especially the way in which he made his grand entrance. The Capitol would have to bide their time until Chip revealed what he could do. The Games would be made based around what Chip had in store.

He turned to the Gamemakers, who actually seemed rather impressed, jotting down notes and nodding to one another.

If this were a tribute, finally they'd be dead.

Finally.

But not before the pain.

"As you can see, this is where the entertainment lies. If you want someone to give the Games a bit of spark, I'm your man." He turned to the fat woman from before, who met his glare with surprised eyes. "Write that down, porky."

He left, through the doors, confident but not arrogant. Adley waved him goodbye, to which he enthusiastically copied, smiling at her as he made his way for the elevator. Ramon, then Tymas, then finally Lazaro all bid him a goodbye as well. Chip wished them all a final good luck and then he left for his floor. _Confident, not arrogant. Pfft. _He could afford to be arrogant.

No one but the Gamemakers now knew.

The most important people in the Hunger Games. Whether he survived was down to what he could do just as much, but their influence would help massively.

If they saw something in him, maybe they'd help. Help to at least get him far enough so he could make the Games what they really were: entertaining. That was the purpose. To wow a crowd. Chip could do that.

When he didn't hold back, didn't smile, didn't charm his way into an alliance, he knew he had it in him. When he was just Chip Flexan, nothing would get in his way.

Not Adley.

Not his allies.

And definitely not the Hunger Games.

No one.

* * *

><p><strong>Eliasi Vallis, 16 years old;<br>District Eight Female.**

* * *

><p>"You should join us."<p>

Tymas was at it again. Eliasi looked at him sternly, leaning in close to his face. "I told you, I've got an ally."

"The little kid from Eleven?"

"That little kid is my friend. Leave him alone."

He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. Eliasi couldn't help but mirror the expression, easing backwards into her chair, crossing her arms round her chest.

"We'd welcome you both."

"Six is a crowd."

"Please?" It was Tymas' turn to lean in. He prodded her in the shoulder, Eliasi swatted him away, but he did it again, then again, and again until Eliasi hit him away, laughing.

"No Tymas. You have your alliance. I have mine. Leave it at that."

"Fine," Tymas shrugged as his name was called. "Suit yourself. Stubborn mule."

"Annoying rat."

"Ugly cow."

"Stupid pig."

Both of them continued to laugh, Tymas giggling all the way down to the double doors and through them. Once he was out of sight, Eliasi sighed loudly and fell back against the wall. Others looked at her, but she ignored their stares. Honestly, she was tried, angry, annoyed and above all sick of this entire fiasco.

It was easy for her to brighten the mood up, not just because she had herself, but because she had people like Tymas and Jasper around her. That was all well and good. But it didn't stop her wanting to shout at anything and anyone that got on her nerves.

Jasper came up to her side at that exact moment. Eliasi took a deep breath and smiled at him, patting the space on the bench next to her. He sat down, chirpy as always, folding his hands into his lap.

"Nervous?"

"I try not to be," Eliasi said, shrugging. "But yeah I am. Scores mean a lot don't they? I don't wanna mess it up."

"You won't."

"You don't know that," he said, grinning. It was infectious – whenever he smiled, she couldn't help but smile. The reason Eliasi had been so drawn to the boy was the fact he reminded her so much of her and her brothers. Eliasi at that age, if she had been here, would have tried a stunt like that with the horses.

And she was pretty sure if one of her brothers were here instead – as awful as that would have been – they'd have done the same thing as well. It was helpful to have someone like him, a memory of her family tucked within a stranger turned friend.

They got along and that meant a lot to Eliasi. She'd always struggled with people, people who were too over the top, too uptight, too selfish. But Jasper, and even Tymas, weren't like that. They were simple. She liked simple.

"I was going to piss off the Gamemakers," she began, as Tymas opened the doors. She took a deep breath, trying to grin in place of the nerves that swarmed her stomach, twisting her face into a negative expression. "But I thought it was best not to. I don't want to ruin our chances."

"You won't."

"You believe in me a lot, huh?"

Jasper stood up when she stood up, nodding at Eliasi's District partner, who replied in earnest. "You're a person I can easily put my faith in. Just don't fuck up."

"Got it." The two shook hands playfully, and then they parted, Eliasi heading for the training room, Jasper moving back to Therese.

On the way to the door, she felt like time was going really, really slowly. Like something was against her and trying to make her feel as nervous as she could possibly feel. Two of the Careers had decided to stay back for some reason. Blonde from One, blonde from Two.

Both were chatting, then turned to stare at a passing Eliasi. They smiled at her, but Eliasi balled her hands into fists, sneering. _Don't. _But of course, since when did she really listen to the smart side of herself?

"Monsters."

Two stepped up, but with a touch on the arm from the pretty blonde from One, she sat back down. Such a simple word had such a big impact on these people – Eliasi smirked at them and pushed on into the training room.

Once in there, the nerves sort of washed away in place of her determination. She pictured Jasper. Then her brothers. Everyone she didn't want to let down.

Two sides of her head battled for control, but for once she let herself take it seriously enough to actually do the right thing. Instead of head for the paint like she'd joked about, the paint she would have doused the Gamemakers in, she walked straight for the weapons.

Jasper and Eliasi had messed around with a few over the past couple of days, so she felt her hand move straight for a spear. It sifted through her fingers rather well when she pulled it up, tracing her hand along the shaft and moving for the target.

The Gamemakers were verging on boredom, she could sense their unease like she could feel her own.

_But I won't mess up, I can't mess up. _She gritted her teeth, separated her feet shoulder width apart and twisted her body so she could push momentum into her throw.

The target changed to one of her brothers. She nearly cried out loud. Then Jasper. Then Tymas. And then a random face she'd seen over the past few days. And then the girl from Two. Girl from One. Everyone they embodied – everyone she wasn't afraid of standing up to. Everyone that might have tried to push her around, but ended up regretting it.

Maybe it was stupid to cause a scene.

But that didn't matter.

Eliasi threw the spear, smiling when it hit only a few rings away from the centre. It was the best shot she'd made since picking up the weapon. The Gamemakers seemed pleased that she'd managed to at least hit the rings – something she was sure they hadn't expected.

"Proved you wrong huh?" She almost called them idiots, but bit down on her tongue, picking up another spear and moving for the target adjacent to the previous one.

On and on she went, throwing spears, then trying her hand with knives, and then moving for the dummies and hacking away with swords. Time seemed to freeze again, but that was a good thing now. It felt like she was making a mark.

Impressing the Gamemakers.

Helping her chances, as well as Jasper's. If he did just as good, or at least attempted to stamp his name amongst the twenty-three others he was against, their partnership might actually benefit from it in the long run.

People probably looked down on the two of them. Didn't think they amounted to much. But Eliasi was determined to prove them wrong – with her words and what she could do here, and in the future.

"Time's up."

Eliasi didn't even feel a bad word threatening to overspill. Her mind was completely focused. She'd done something, something good, and now she could rest easy knowing that was all she could have done.

"How'd it go?"

Jasper rushed up to greet her, ignoring some of the stares from the other kids. As selfish as it might have seemed, they were obviously hoping she hadn't done well. Hadn't secured a high score. Hadn't stolen some sponsors from them.

It was a competition after all.

This was what it was all about.

"I did great. Don't screw up kiddo." She pushed him forwards and followed him down to the bench. Although it was over, she waited anyway.

She smiled.

She laughed.

She felt pleased with herself.

She'd made an impression.

* * *

><p><strong>Did I mention I update fast?<strong>

**Yeah, I'm literally breezing through this. Might be down to the fact I'm not doing anything with my life, not until like October, so I have so much time on my hands. Still, quick updates get us to the Games quicker. Two more Capitol chapters left, I've changed my format yet again. Scores will up on the blog soon.**

**Last three tributes to get a second POV are up next. Then maybe I'll have another poll up, see if opinions have changed at all.**


	16. Starring Role

**Chapter Sixteen.**

* * *

><p><strong>Interviews.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Tristian Fortier, 17 years old;<br>District Four Male.**

* * *

><p>She'd dropped the act for now.<p>

Rhaella smiled at him without draping a hand over his shoulder, or seductively tracing his arm as her fingers glided up and down. Instead, she stood a reasonable distance away, radiating the beauty she knew she had, but being friendly rather than overtly flirtatious.

Tristian was grateful. Now, he didn't feel like so much force was pushing him down into the ground. He hadn't volunteered to be a part of all these mind games. Rhaella's strategy wasn't who he was, or what he valued.

She wanted to twist him around her finger and use him.

Tristian just wanted to get into the Arena, deal with it day to day, and adapt to fit whatever was thrown in the wake of their alliance. Rhaella – if she did have a trick up her sleeve – had dropped it for enough time for Tristian to feel like he could breathe again.

"You look great Rhaella," Tristian smiled, straightening his blue tie, tucking it so it rested down his chest, against his shirt and behind the buttoned blazer.

"District Four certainly has a particular flair this year," she said, smiling, "I think we'll make quite the impression."

Her dress was playing upon what Rhaella seemed to think were her greatest assets. Tristian – although refusing to fall for what she tried to do – couldn't help but blush knowing right in front of him, Rhaella was basically… half naked.

She didn't seem to care. Which was great, in a way, Tristian admired the fact she was so self-confident. Saira herself was sort of like Rhaella in that she didn't mind who she was with, she still came across as a friendly, open person. Vance, likewise, maybe a little extreme, but similar. Henry cheerful in the most blood-curdling way, and then Rayah, a little too focused, but he understood that.

She was probably the most similar to his work ethic. Keeping it calm, focused and within reason. Although it might be stupid to follow such a conduct given where they were, the fact it was them literally targeting little children, there were still some rules he could follow.

And he would.

They gave him a true purpose. Kept his mind straight, so people like Rhaella couldn't get into his head. He stood a chance – he knew he did. They could suffer through all the mind games. Tristian was impervious to them – he was just ready to fight, kill, and eventually win.

"Moving onwards, welcoming our first of the stunning District Four pair, Tristian Fortier."

The interviews were quite foreboding. Not that Tristian was nervous – but he knew, when questioned, his answers and opinions might not be the most exciting things the Capitol audience would have ever heard. He just didn't lay things on thick. Didn't play them up to be anything dramatic or over the top.

What things were, he accepted. He went with the truth.

He believed in the truth.

"Good luck Tristian," Rhaella smiled, twirling a strand of her crinkled blonde hair round a finger. "I know you'll do just great."

"Thanks."

He turned to go, looking once more over his shoulder at his District partner. Had she really stopped? Or was she planning something else – letting the hook she thought she had inside of him settle a bit, only to try again at a later date.

He hoped not.

He didn't think like her.

The Games were what the Career academy had always said – teenagers killing teenagers. Nothing in between.

Once on the stage, he sat down into the armchair, one hand on each knee, smiling confidently at Caesar. The man was in silver from head to toe – silver hair, glitter splashed across his face, suit and tie the same metallic colour, and shoes to match.

Tristian was a drop of ocean water, blue from the collar, all the way to his feet. He extended a hand to Caesar, who was more than happy to meet him halfway and shook it up and down eagerly.

"So, Tristian. From District Four no doubt. We've been trying to get a bit of gossip from each of you – Saira, Vance, Rayah and Henry, they all have their stories to tell. What can you impart upon us, something interesting, anything?"

_Not really. _He paused for a moment to think of something – but really, his allies were just his allies. Though he liked them, though he feared them in a healthy way, he didn't know them as friends. He'd mainly trained by himself, unless he counted Rhaella's parasitic presence as friendly.

No, it really didn't matter whether the Capitol wanted their gossip or not. He gave his opinions as they were. The fuss, the drama, he didn't care for it.

He just wanted to get to tomorrow – get this whole charade over and done with.

"My allies are what you'd expect from Districts One, Two and Four. Trained, prepared, and ready to do what's necessary."

"But the details, come on Tristian. A handsome boy like you, I bet the girls have been trying to get on your good side – spilling all their juicy secrets. Surely there's something."

"There's nothing Caesar," he shook his head. Was he leaving a valuable impression? Probably not. But the fact he came from Four was enough to still retain interest – especially the confidence he emitted, even though he didn't even attempt to play it up, it just happened. His back was stiff, the smile small, not over the top, and his eyes focused on Caesar's, as if everything going on around him didn't matter.

Tristian knew he was the type of Career the Capitol bought into, because he was the type of Career, that when everything had died down, when all the sideshow had come to an end, would bring the Games to their appropriate finish.

Bringing everything back to its true purpose.

To kill.

Whether he enjoyed it or not, that was a whole different question. He didn't – but he was ready to do it anyway. Only Henry seemed interested in the actual act of killing. The rest, they did it because it's what was necessary. What they had to do.

"What about you, come on, sell yourself to us. Why should we bet on you to win this year's Games?"

"You should bet on me because I'm ready, willing and prepared to do everything and anything it takes, Caesar." He looked to the camera, his emotions in check, but the ready-made grin still there, on his face, giving the Capitol everything he was – simple, to the point. That's how he played it. That was the image he wanted to give off.

"I'm the person you should bet on because the Games are, when you strip it all back to what the true nature is, a life and death match. Whilst the others let themselves pick their egos apart through their appearance and attitude, I'm just there, willingly playing the Game so I can win."

"And you think you can do it – really?" Caesar sounded impressed. Tristian was thankful for that. He didn't need to flaunt himself in a way that wasn't himself. He didn't need to belittle any of the tributes, tell lies to push their chances down, or pick apart who they were.

He just wanted them to know that he was confident in himself. Confident that he wasn't the worst guy around, but he could still be their Victor. Well-mannered, non-twisted Careers existed.

Careers that weren't always plagued with egotistic fantasies.

Careers like Tristian could, and would, win.

"I'm going to be your Victor, Caesar."

He stood up, the interview coming to an end.

"Good luck to you Tristian."

_Do I need luck? _Maybe. But really, all he needed was himself. He had what he needed to win. He knew how to do it.

Now it was just the case of actually doing it.

_Tomorrow._

Tomorrow it all happened. It started.

The real show.

* * *

><p><strong>Blaine Carrigan, 16 years old;<br>District Six Male.**

* * *

><p>What was going wrong?<p>

Holly stood behind him, with the girls from Seven and Eleven talking quickly and cheerfully. Their voices mixed in the air along with the alliance of outer-district boys he'd tried to join. But apparently, they didn't see Blaine the way they should.

The honest way.

_Have I done something wrong? _Maybe he did push a little too hard. Maybe other people just didn't see him in the same light he tried to see himself as – not that it was his own fault. Blaine just wanted the recognition other people got despite never working as hard as he did. The boys from Seven, Eight and Ten seemed to draw one another to their presence, and then the added boy from Five only rubbed it in further.

What made it so difficult for Blaine that he couldn't be like them?

_Oh well, _he sighed, crossing his arms angrily round his chest. The interviews were a perfect chance to stand out. And he had an idea.

Maybe not the nicest idea, but really, _she _wasn't a nice person. It might earn him points for bringing a bit of speculation into this year's crop of tributes. Might ensure him a spot amongst the stand-outs if he was the one to stir the pot a bit. He smiled, listening to the girls behind him chatter on and on.

They were naïve in their trust of the bitch accompanying him. He'd met many girls in his life – seen many people like Holly, what they did, what they were capable of.

If he couldn't have an alliance when he did nothing wrong, Holly, the girl who seemed to draw people to her, couldn't either. And she didn't deserve one. Not a manipulative witch like her. She was good at this – good at surviving. But in some ways, it would be clever of Blaine if he did this. If he secured himself favour amongst the Capitol.

Then he could survive.

With the Games tomorrow, he tried to ignore the fact he was scared. Fear, worry, anxiety, none of those would do. Not if he wanted to make his mark in the Arena. Without an alliance, it might be harder than he'd hoped. But he was Blaine Carrigan. A boy capable of fighting through the other twenty-three.

Besides, petty relationships would only have bogged him down. _Yeah, why should I be bitter? Or jealous? It's not me at a loss, it's all these idiots, clinging to their pretend friends. _He didn't feel sorry for the girls that had fallen for Holly. It was their own fault.

He was clever.

He was paying attention.

He would win.

He had to.

"All the way from District Six, I'd like to welcome to the stage, Blaine Carrigan!" Lights blindsided the young boy as he moved towards the stage, away from the irritating noise of his fellow tributes, and into the barrage of applause coming from the stadium in front.

He put on a winning smile, the best he could hope to scrape together, and moved for the chair. It felt good, almost natural, to be in the spotlight. Something he'd always craved, the appreciation of others. Why shouldn't he blame his upbringing for the way he'd turned out?

Any kid with shitty parents would turn out this way. Not that he'd become a bad person – he was quite proud of himself, really, for pulling himself together and being the best of the best. Six didn't see it. These other tributes didn't.

But the Capitol would.

They'd love him.

"So Blaine, Blaine Carrigan," Caesar leaned forwards the moment Blaine was almost swallowed whole by the plush armchair. He steadied himself and balanced on the edge, trying to meet the sparkling man's eyes.

"Call me Blaine. None of this formal nonsense."

"Blaine it is. No Carrigan. Just Blaine."

"Just Blaine," he laughed and kicked a leg up, over the other, draping his hands informally over his trouser leg. They glistened like the spotlights raining down above. Yellow glitter, dusted across his clothes and skin. He quite liked it. Yet another way of ensuring he stood out amongst the masses.

"You aren't close with the rest of the Carrigans?"

"Not remotely Caesar. You see, if you live in a District like mine, a District where you need to struggle to make it above the rest, you can't let family ties keep you down. Whilst I love them," he paused for the eager audience to lap up the sentiment, then carried on, "I need to stand out. And I have. I'm Blaine and people in Six know me for being that – a smart, well done kid who knows what he wants and knows how to get it."

"And being here, now, in the Capitol, about to go into the Arena, what is it you want?"

Blaine laughed, way too enthusiastically. It made him almost gag. _This isn't me, but it's semi-true. The words are honest, the actions false. If a frown got me sponsors, I'd use it. But they won't. _"I want what every tribute wants, but only one of us will get."

"I think we can guess what that is, can't we folks?" Caesar turned himself to face the audience. Blaine sat back cheerfully, listening to their cheering and hooting, soaking it all in. This was what he deserved – what he'd always deserved.

Screw the other people, the Capitol knew a good thing when they saw it. Whatever anyone else thought, it didn't matter. This was it, his life, he could see it.

"Victory at all costs," Blaine said, punching a fist in the air.

The applause soon settled down, giving Blaine enough time to throw one last thing out there, one last curveball for the Capitol.

Another piece of the puzzle.

"I have a message Caesar, if it's alright with you?"

"By all means, your family and friends are watching back in District Six. Speak what's on your mind."

Blaine turned to face the camera, looking at the backstage curtain in the corner of his eye, and then forward again. "This isn't for my family, or my friends. This is for Holly Branwell's allies."

Everything went silent.

He could picture her face – picture the way it was going bright red, the way she'd try to smile it off, only to feel like everything was about to fall apart.

"As citizens of Panem, we've watched many Hunger Games, seen many tributes, seen countless alliances and an infinite amount of strategies. Your _friend _Holly is playing you for a fool. Be smart about it, and listen. I know Holly Branwell." He stopped, smiling. "And she's going to kill you."

With that, the interview came to an end. Blaine shook Caesar's hand for the final time, bowed to the audience and turned with confidence to walk off the stage.

It was there, as he went to reach the elevator, he felt a hand clasp round his arm. Holly, with Sherina and Therese staring at her behind her back, leant in close with the tiniest little smile on her face.

"Oh Blaine, silly Blaine," she laughed – a cold, brutal laugh. "Maybe I'll kill them. But you know who I'm going to kill first?"

He pretended to feel confident. Pretended to laugh. "Who?"

"You silly," Holly pulled back, patting him on the shoulder. "You."

_Oh…_

* * *

><p><strong>Casimar Kaveli, 18 years old;<br>District Nine Male.**

* * *

><p>Casimar and Noelani stood either side of each other, waiting for the girl from Eight to finish up her interview.<p>

Neither seemed nervous outwardly, but Casimar could feel the weight of this situation pushing down on his shoulders. Clarette was a loose cannon – a strong cannon – but risky. If she flunked her interview, whatever impression he gave here and now would be what secured the two of them support or scorn.

His score had been mediocre, as had Clarette's, so really this was all they had left to go on.

"You shouldn't worry Cas'," Noelani piped up from next to him, smiling when he lowered his nervous gaze into her warm eyes.

"I'm not nervous." Casimar lied, straightening up his shoulders. He didn't want anyone to feel like they had to carry his own state of mind – he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. That might have been why he felt so guilty, but relieved as well that Noelani and him weren't allies.

Clarette would get him far.

Noelani wouldn't.

_But why won't she?... _Casimar bit his lip to stop himself from coming across as anything but composed. Maybe she would make it far – but he had to go on his gut instinct, and girls like Noelani just didn't make it. Terrible, though it was, it was a fact of life.

She'd die.

He'd have to move on.

"I can tell when someone is nervous. Besides, it's natural to feel that way."

"Had many interviews before?" Casimar joked, anything to lighten up the situation.

"A few here and there. Mainly magazine shoots." Noelani smiled, laughing with him.

On stage, the girl from Eight was providing enough comic relief, although a bit hot-headed and opinionated, the Capitol were laughing alongside her jokes, whether they were intentional or not.

Casimar wouldn't be like that, but he'd make some impression. That was important to him – being remembered.

In Nine he was just another worker out in the fields, another teenage boy – eldest son, big brother – supporting a poverty-stricken family so they could feed themselves and get by. Admirable though it was, and as much as he had respect from those close to him, he'd never felt like anyone would really picture him as anything special once there were more mouths to feed, more families living in the dirt, and more oppression to put up with.

_But here… _It sort of felt like a fresh start, in the most morbid sense. Here he had no past relationship with anyone, no links or bonds or connections to go on. They didn't know him and he didn't know them.

Yes, it was the Hunger Games

Yes, he was scared.

But the fact was, a burden had been relieved from his shoulders. It felt almost freeing.

"Good luck, Casimar."

At the sound of Noelani's voice, Casimar looked forward and saw Caesar's hand, extended to backstage, welcoming him on. Patting down his blazer, practicing a quick twitch of the lips so he got the smile right, he walked on stage, waving once to the crowd and shaking Caesar's hand.

"Casimar, Casimar. Such a strapping lad, and from Nine of all places."

"We work hard in Nine, Caesar. It definitely pays off."

Now that he was in the seat, he felt could feel practically every pair of eyes burning into the side of his head – judging him again, but based on this, on the impression he could make rather than anything else. He wasn't an idiot. A boy from Nine, with a score of five, no matter how _strapping_, did not have complete, undeniable support.

He just wanted to come across confident enough, not cocky. Friendly, but not desperate for affection. He just wanted to be himself – that couldn't be too hard. Not if he let go of all the stress and just enjoyed this one last moment, before the Games tomorrow.

"Tell me Casimar, we're always so interested in the little alliances people outside of One, Two and Four make. Has anyone – maybe the lovely Noelani Lenoire – caught your eye?"

He could see Noelani, right there, hidden from the crowd, but standing on the edge of the backstage area. Her eyes were on his, gentle eyes, a kind, warm smile on her face. It hurt. He didn't want to see her die. He didn't want to see any of these people die… especially himself.

"Not Noelani. She's one of the best people I've ever had the privilege to meet, but we thought it was best we didn't team up come the Arena."

"So who Casimar, come on. Give us some insight."

"Well," Casimar chewed his lip, straightening his back against the chair. "I'm in an alliance, a duo if you will, with Clarette from Ten."

"Ah," Caesar laughed, the Capitol joining in – like there was an inside joke with him and the audience. "She certainly stood out during the tribute parade, wouldn't you say? Is that why you allied with her – because she'd already made an impression?"

_No. I allied with her because I'm selfish. I allied with her so I could survive. Because that's all it is – about my survival. _His stomach somersaulted nervously, mixed in with the guilt and everything else he felt, this wasn't turning out as best as he'd hoped.

At least it was all stored inside. Outwardly, he still smiled, still sat rather confidently in the chair, poised for the audience.

"I allied with Clarette because she has something to her – call it fire, I don't know. But I think that's important, to have a spark. She saw it in me. I saw it in her. It made sense, really."

"Does Noelani not have that special spark?"

"She does, just of a different kind." Nothing, not anything, would compel him to say anything bad about his District partner. Not a girl like her – not the kinds of people who were supportive in a country where its leaders didn't support its people. Casimar was a friendly guy, but realistic. That might be why he saw Noelani dying.

It's just what usually happened.

Weak, or strong, supportive people didn't last.

"What kind of spark then?"

"Noelani and Clarette are very different people, but both the sorts of girls I'd usually call a friend where I come from." Half true. He usually avoided people like Clarette – realistic in a disrespectful way. "I wish I'd known them before coming here. But, that doesn't mean Caesar I'm willing to be the kind of guy who lies there and takes it for an ally. I'm here to win, like everyone here I know, but I always live up to my word."

"We sure hope so, you've been a delight." Caesar clapped him on the back as it finally came to an end. They shook hands, Casimar waving again for the audience, smiling politely and walking off to meet with a waiting Noelani.

The two exchanged a quick hug, a good luck for her upcoming interview, and on Casimar went, ready to settle down and prepare.

"A spark? Really?"

He smiled at Clarette, turning to face her. "Go with it. We're friends."

"Allies."

"Friends for the Capitol, they'll like that."

She rolled her eyes but agreed, nodding her head with a grin. "Goodnight Casimar."

"Goodnight Clarette."

He made it to the elevator, pressed the button to his floor, and sank back against the glass side with a sigh.

Tomorrow, everything finally fell into place. All this waiting, reaching the point where it was literally do or die.

It would still always be a show of what he could do, if he could be remembered, his words and his actions. Never before had Casimar really been so committed to being someone – being someone special, someone people could look up to, rather than depending on him.

_I just have to win._

Easier said than done, but he was ready.

Ready for the Games.

* * *

><p><strong>Aaaand, every tribute has now had a second POV! How about a final opinions chart, now you've seen them all twice? :33<br>**

**I have the last, final Capitol chapter already written up, so depending how this chapter does, I might update again tomorrow since it's there. I try to hit a certain number of reviews before updating again, gives people a chance to not fall TOO behind, I guess. I'll see how it goes.**

**Anyway, only Launch to go and that's it, the Games. Nearly there!**


	17. Living Dead

**Chapter Seventeen.**

* * *

><p><strong>Launch.<strong>

* * *

><p>They were trying.<p>

Some of the tributes were better at kidding themselves than others. The Careers, mainly. For years they'd trained physically and mentally, how hard could it be to smother the fear under confidence?

It was what they'd been doing for their entire lives. The morning of wouldn't be anything different.

Saira brushed her hair, looking in the mirror atop her vanity. Not that she cared so much about how she looked – not now, not where she was going. Still, it offered a necessary distraction. As she smoothed her hair into position, she let her mind drift away.

The Games were forgotten. For the time being, at least.

Both the tributes from Twelve were fighting to the best of their ability to push their emotions to the back of their minds. Lexine was a lot better at chatting around the dining room table than Chase was. He stared glumly into his breakfast bowl, swirling the flakes in the milk, listening to Lexine on and on. She stared at him, frowning.

_Chase must think I'm an idiot. _But this was Lexine. Not even the Games could change her. She hoped not – she didn't know an awful lot about them, only the bad things.

She bit her lip. _Don't cry, don't cry. _

She didn't.

A few floors down, Eliasi and Tymas were acting a lot different to the more sombre tributes. Neither of them wanted to let this last moment – maybe their last morning alive – be smothered in a thick blanket of depression. Plus, Tymas really couldn't deal with that pressure. Maybe that was why he hadn't tried to push himself as leader.

The responsibility. He wasn't that sort of teenager.

Eliasi on the other hand couldn't help but feel that she'd made a stupid decision. A group of six would be good, she tried to push herself to swallow down her pride. _Jasper didn't agree to this, though. _So instead of speaking up, she laughed and smiled away with her District partner, using that as her excuse.

If this were another mistake on her part, add it to the countless others. She refused to fret over it, not now.

Once in the elevator, Arial turned to Lucian. The older boy was leaning against the glass side, peering over the edge. _I'm not scared, I'm not, I'm not. _When he got scared, he couldn't deal with it. Not those kinds of emotions. Not when he felt so… vulnerable.

Unfortunately, Arial didn't seem to know that about Lucian. She still thought he had an ounce of good in him, somewhere. Clinging to hope like a fool. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Don't be an idiot," he snapped, glaring. _I'm not scared… _"I could kill you."

Arial stopped herself from crying, ignoring the biting fear like ice piercing her insides. "You won't. This attitude, it's to protect yourself. You wouldn't hurt me."

"You really believe that?"

Arial did. Lucian didn't. He wasn't sure what he'd do once in the Arena. _Survive, that's my goal. _But at what cost?

Arial's life?

Was that a price he'd willingly pay?

On the roof, District partners split about, some going away with a wave, others ignoring one another. Clarette paid little attention to Lazaro's hand, not because she was trying to be intentionally rude, but because her mind was miles away. If she focused on other things, then this whole situation would be nothing but stupid background noise.

Lazaro didn't mind Clarette's attitude. He quite liked it, really. She was motivated in her own definition of the word. Lazaro quickly caught up with Ramon, who would be on the same hovercraft as him, patting him on the shoulder. Luckily for Ramon, Chip was being herded into the other vehicle.

Though the young boy was friendly, there was still something there.

Something he didn't like.

Lazaro followed Ramon's eyes and sighed, twisting him away from view. Ramon smiled, Lazaro smiled, and Chip on the other side did the same thing, waving at Adley on the opposite side of the roof.

_Soon, soon. She'll die. They'll die. I'll kill. And then I'll win._

The final District to arrive was Eleven. Therese blushed the entire walk, with the open hovercrafts like waiting, angry metallic beasts, judging her for being late. She'd tried so hard to make an impression. So hard to be that kind of tribute – the kind of tribute that made it their mission to stand out. Who was there to impress up here?

She looked at the Peacekeepers, one of them with their hand on her shoulder. _Maybe it's them. Maybe I just need someone to impress. Someone to make me feel confident in myself. _

Jasper, unlike Therese, whistled his goodbye to her and walked with his arms swinging, all the way to his side of the roof. Once inside, he quickly took a seat next to Eliasi and began talking, like they weren't headed to the Arena.

Some tributes looked at him like he was an idiot. Jasper ignored them, keeping his eyes on Eliasi, his mouth focused on his words. If he could ignore where he was going, he could enjoy this last, normal conversation.

It worked well enough.

Vance and Rayah sat next to each other, pretending the outer-District tributes weren't staring at them. Rhaella sat by herself. Though the girl from Four didn't mind Rayah, she felt out of place without Tristian or Saira there by her side. So instead of talking, she focused on the window, staring at the sky as they streamlined through the blue, clouded air.

Rayah felt nervous, more nervous than she'd felt in a long time. Not that she regretted anything she'd done up to this point – in fact, she was proud. Extremely proud. Rhaella had succumbed to her main attitude, using it as some pathetic attempt at a Games strategy. The Rayah she'd left in Two had been the Rayah that nearly matched weak Rhaella. But Rayah, she was prepared. Strong. Focused. Nothing would get in her way until she'd made it to the very end.

That was a promise.

Vance on the other hand focused on everything that had gone wrong. Saira and Vance had been tense ever since the train ride, and the others only saw him more as an outer, unimportant Career to their alliance. He'd been charming, he'd been himself, kind and thoughtful – but the fact he didn't feel valued, maybe it did show.

_Have I ruined my chances of respect? _He didn't want to be immature about it, but under his father's influence, losing everything his family stood for… it hurt. It scared him.

On the other hovercraft, Noelani sat with her hands over one knee, staring out the window. So much raged through her head, so much of how she wanted to act, what she wanted to remember, how she'd present herself in the Arena.

More importantly, she just wanted to make sure she was there for Chase. They got on surprisingly well. He was kind underneath that exterior of his. And gentle. That was important. Though they were both prepared to do what had to be done to other people, together, they had everything they needed in a friendship.

She smiled. _I'm content, at least. Not happy. Content. _It was enough.

Finally the hovercrafts dipped down and came to a halt. Blaine bit down on his lip to stop himself from swearing. Without an alliance, he'd never felt more exposed, more ashamed of himself. Mainly he felt embarrassed. He saw where he'd gone wrong, saw what he'd done, the chances he'd ruined, and knew everyone looked at him as a nobody.

As the tracker was injected into his arm, with the girl from Two looking at him, he straightened up and kept a composed face. _I'll show them. _Being by himself would be easier, surely. He only had himself to put up with.

Other people were just annoying anyway.

Obstacles.

He could do it. All he needed was Blaine Carrigan, that was enough to get him through to the end.

Holly continued to watch her allies until they were pulled apart, escorted down various hallways, and out of sight. Once in the room with her stylist, Holly shook herself free of everything she'd had on her shoulders and slumped back, frowning.

"Problem?"

"Are you an idiot?" Holly snapped. The poor woman looked at her with wide eyes and a trembling lip. She felt guilty, she felt like she should apologise, but Holly didn't. In fact, although it was a burden the way she was acting, she was proud. Proud with how far she'd come. Proud of how far she was about to go. Blaine had tried to ruin things, but how many bitches in school had done the same thing?

It would be worth it, being with her alliance. They were good people. She honestly valued their company – even if Arial was a tad annoying. She didn't want to hurt them. But she would, because she had to.

At the end of the day, it was just Holly who could get to the end. No two Victors. She refused to pretend like they were friends. They were just allies. People to get her far, and then dispose of when she had to.

_I worked it back in school, I can work it here. _It would be different to bitching and gossiping, but it was still part of the same game.

A game she would win.

In adjacent rooms, Adley and Casimar were shown their tribute outfits. The boy from Nine didn't complain when the tight white top was pulled over his frame, blue, sleeveless overalls accompanying them, alongside a white bow tie. Then the stylist, for whatever reason, dotted his cheeks, three times on each one, with a red marker.

"Freckles dear," she said, patting him. _Freckles. What the heck is this?_

Adley thought the exact same, though when she was given no footwear, she couldn't help but feel exposed. Useless. The outfit itself was absolutely nothing in regards to helpful – the bow in her hair was as ridiculous as the overdone makeup splashed across her face. Not to mention that the girls had been given a red gingham dress to wear over the shirt, knee length white socks tight against her legs.

It wasn't her stylists fault, but for a split second she felt angry at the young woman. Angry that she was here. Angry that she knew she didn't have a real shot.

And now angry at this lack of protection.

She even felt angry at Lexine.

_It's not her fault I'm here, _Adley thought, taking a deep breath. It was no one's. At least, no one she'd come into contact with. Lexine was a nice girl – she understood Adley, like Adley understood her.

They could make it past today.

They would.

They had to.

"Launch in twenty seconds."

Sherina steadied her breathing. Nothing could stop her from crying out though, nearly falling into the wall. She'd prepared herself mentally this entire morning – she'd ignored Ramon, even ignored Therese when the girl tried to talk to her. Distance had been a good plan, nothing had made her want to fall apart. Until now. Until the voice.

_I'm really going into the Arena… I'm really about to fight. Maybe die. I can't…_

Tristian, different to Sherina, did all he could to be the prepared Career. That was who he was. How he felt. Although the outfit they were in hadn't been what he'd expected, it meant nothing. At the end of the day, his skills were enough.

His talent would get him through this. His allies were not the strongest group collectively, but that didn't matter. As an individual, he had it in him to do what was necessary. Maybe not what was right.

But necessary.

It was enough to motivate him to volunteer, and it was enough to get him to stand in the tube as it closed around him. _Ready._

Total darkness embraced the tributes.

Henry stood, feet separated on the plate, grinning. Shaking. Laughing. There was no need to censor himself at the moment – not that he'd ever cared about that. With darkness around him, he let the overwhelming glee encase him. Everything he'd trained for was about to come to fruition.

He had a friend in Saira.

He had one of the highest training scores.

And now, in front of him, in a matter of seconds, would be the weapons he needed, and the bodies waiting to die.

It was too good to be true.

_But first, _Henry smiled. _Why wait? _He knew his near future. Knew the choices he was about to make. The path he was about to go down. And instead of his goal unnerving him, instead of swaying his mind, nothing made more sense than this.

When the Arena came into view, Henry let out a shrill laugh, piercing the suffocating silence.

Tributes looked at him.

His alliance stared. Saira smiling. The others frowning.

He didn't care.

_Time for some fun, _he rubbed his hands together, readying himself. _Let's get this party started._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Who do you <strong>__**want**__** to see fall in the bloodbath?**_

_**Who do you **__**think**__** will fall in the bloodbath?**_

* * *

><p><strong>Here it is, the last Capitol chapter!<strong>

**I'll mention it next chapter, but before anyone does die, I just want to thank everyone for submitting and giving me a chance with their tributes. I've surprised myself with how quickly I've gotten this written, and that's mainly been because of the tributes themselves. It'll be sad when they start to go, but that's the way it works, and I'd like to apologise in advance to those who submitted any of the bloodbaths. I'll miss each and every one of them!**

**Up next: the Games!**


	18. These Four Walls

**Chapter Eighteen.**

* * *

><p><strong>Bloodbath.<strong>

* * *

><p>Calm.<p>

That's what the Arena seemed like, from a first glance. In front of some of the tributes, six exactly, they saw the front porch of a quaint, two-storied house. White and perfectly painted, it stood detached, a picket fence surrounding it on all sides. A path led up to the front door, a balcony leering from the second floor, shadowing the steps below.

Six of the tributes were facing the left side of the house – the same white paint, with the picket fence in front of them, a reasonably sized gap placed halfway along, like the front. Six others were on the right side, identical to the left, and the other six were behind the house. A swing set stood, without so much as moving an inch, to the side of the garden. They were behind the picket fence again, facing the back door of the house.

_Where's the Cornucopia? _Most of the tributes had the exact same thought, until they all looked properly. On the grass, behind and in front of the picket fence, were smaller supplies, backpacks and other items. On the balcony, someone could see weapons peeking through the railings.

The house was the Cornucopia.

_Interesting._

The tributes took a few seconds to examine the rest of the Arena. This house, acting as a makeshift Cornucopia, was adjacent to houses of the exact same size and colour, all lined up perfectly, like a paradise neighbourhood. The one everyone wished to live in. Classic, traditional.

It formed a square, with a grass patch in the middle, a tall tree acting as a centrepiece. Roads veered off and round the houses, to whatever else the Arena had in store, but for now they were in a neighbourhood that looked like… plastic.

Everything looked fake. The houses too shiny. Too polished.

Up in the sky, a shadow was cut along the clouds, a black sort of blanket left unhinged like it was a lid of some sorts, open with the tributes inside a box. Whatever the effect was meant to be, no one had a clue.

No one cared right now.

The Games were about to begin. That's what mattered.

The rest of the Arena would have to wait – they had to either vault over the picket fence, fight to fit through the gap, and then into the house to scour for weapons. A group of tributes in the same building would spell trouble.

But it was trouble most were willing to go through, for a chance at survival.

And in a matter of seconds, it would begin.

* * *

><p>The Capitol was ready.<p>

The Districts were ready.

The families and friends, waiting, watching, worrying, were ready.

The tributes were ready.

_5…_

_4…_

_3…_

_2…_

_1…_

_0._

* * *

><p>The first one off his plate was Henry. He didn't care for the scenery, didn't care what the Arena was, what creativity the Gamemakers had poured into their pride and joy, none of that mattered. All he cared about was getting into the house first – which was exactly what he managed to do.<p>

He nearly stumbled over the welcome mat, sitting by the door, next to a desk with a phone on it. Down the corridor, with photo frames either side, Henry paused for a brief moment, blinking twice. _The fuck… _In the doorway, a life-sized plastic doll stood, staring at him. Blonde hair cascaded down to its chest, an apron tied round a blouse, a skirt resting against its plastic knees.

_Don't girls play with those? _He shook the thought from his head. None of that mattered. The steps were hard to navigate, but if he got a good vantage point, then it would be worth the hassle. Although it looked like a normal house, everything was slippery. Henry made it to the top of the stairs, picked up a knife waiting for him, and hid round the edge of the railing.

Anyone that came up would die.

He couldn't wait.

Meanwhile the rest of the tributes were hurrying to either find their allies, supplies, both, or high-tailing it out of the area. Blaine picked up a backpack that was lying near his pedestal, gave the chaos one look, shook his head with a grimace and fled immediately, not even bothering to check the contents of his bag. _I'm not risking that, _he felt ashamed, like he was missing out on something. Then Holly's face flashed in front of his eyes, then the Careers, and he ignored that stupid feeling.

This was the smart thing to do.

So he ran.

Arial and Sherina had been based on the left side of the house, both of them. Before even trying to vault over the picket fence, they rushed towards each other.

"We have to find the others," Arial shouted. Though there was hardly any noise, the young girl was terrified, her eyes frantic, heart beat pumping away in her chest.

"But…"

"But?" Arial saw the pair from One through a window, searching the kitchen for supplies. "Come on!" She tugged on Sherina's sleeve, and the girl from Seven had no choice but to follow her in search of Holly and Therese.

That kid from Six was right. She'd tried to ignore the doubt, ignore the way she felt guilty believing such a sweet girl could house malicious intent, but now that he'd said it, the signs were obvious. Arial didn't want to believe it. She couldn't believe it.

If it came down to it, Sherina was prepared to silence the girl from Six, before she could harm anyone in her alliance. Now, though, it was just about getting out safely. With Holly, as Arial intended.

_I'll make her see, _Sherina promised herself. _Before it's too late…_

Therese saw her allies heading towards her, down the left side. She was throwing random supplies into an empty backpack – a coil of rope, some wire, matches and a few slices of bread. A smile broke out onto her face when Sherina and Arial reached her side.

"Where's Holly?"

"We'll get her now, come on." Arial pulled on Therese, who looking at a worried Sherina, nodded her head, threw the backpack over her shoulder and followed behind.

It only took two more steps for it to all begin. What the Games were really about.

Tristian Fortier let the spear fly in the air. It was Arial's eagerness, her commitment to not believe Holly's bad intentions, to not listen to Sherina, that led her to try to guide her allies herself. At the front of the group, the spearhead found her chest, throwing her back into Sherina's arms.

She was dead before her allies could do anything.

"ARIAL!"

Sherina let out half a sob, stifling it in time. Therese, however, nearly crumbled over, flinging herself at her ally's deceased form. With one shake of Arial's body, trying to ignore the fact she knew the truth, Therese shed the confident aura she'd tried too hard to showcase and cried. If it weren't for Sherina she'd be dead too.

But the girl from Seven, staring with pained eyes at the first death of the Games, hauled Therese up with one arm and dragged her over the picket fence and in the direction of the next house. Away from the carnage.

"She's dead…"

"I know," Sherina said, bowing her head. "But we have to-"

"Wait up!"

They turned to see Holly waving at them, a knife in one hand, another backpack over the other shoulder. Sherina nearly, very nearly, threw herself at her ally. Holly looked at the two of them, saw the blood spray on Therese's face, and cried with the girl from Eleven.

"Arial… no…"

_She's good, _Sherina thought, bitterly. _Too good._

It could only last so long.

Rhaella was by herself on the right side of the house. Everyone else, all the tributes from the outer districts had fled in different directions, leaving the Career girl to debate what to do. She knew what was expected, but in a moment of weakness, she'd let the fear during the countdown get to her. Now it was a matter of letting it go, or controlling it so she could fulfil her commitment to her alliance.

Without Tristian or Saira or anyone, she was just another Career, fighting for what she believed was her true path. But she'd never been a fighter – not in that sense. She'd fought with other means, fought with something in mind, some distraction.

_I'm not going to just roll over and die. _Rhaella let the fear in. It was human to feel this way, even Careers knew when to feel scared. But instead of being a liability, she buckled down and ran round the edge of the house, grabbing the back of someone's collar and throwing them out of her way.

She was in a kitchen. Rhaella stopped herself from gasping out loud. A plastic man, young boy and young girl were sat, motionless round a table, staring at each other like a happy, fake family.

She had no idea what this Arena was meant to be, but right now it didn't matter. There was a sword placed where their breakfast should have been. She picked that up, composed herself and ran back into the garden area.

There was still someone trying to gather up supplies, the last meagre pieces of rubbish that had been left on the rubber grass. Rhaella blinked once, steadied her breathing, and lunged.

Jasper Ness' head left his shoulders in one clean, precise cut. Rhaella shrieked out loud when blood doused her like a jet. The young boy's body flopped forwards like a useless sack of potatoes, twitched once, and that was it.

An innocent kid dead.

_No, _Rhaella shook her head. _This was how it had to be. Innocent or not. They're just victims._

With that in mind, she turned back, ignoring her conscience, and sprinted into the house, ready.

Lucian was trying his absolute best to remain undetected, but the tribute wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't last long without supplies, without some kind of protection, so his best bet was to find something in the house that he could use other than what he'd found at the front.

He narrowly missed the boy from Two rolling down the staircase, throwing punches at the boy from Seven. That didn't matter, _let them kill each other, _they were just enemies after all. Just numbers ready to tick off a board somewhere. Counting down the toll until only one remained.

Strangely enough he found that thought even more disconcerting. _After all, I'm just one of those numbers, just another tick, just another piece of nothing. _He refused to believe that, or at least pretended he wasn't.

At least for now, as he made his way through a side cupboard, a plastic set of stairs hidden at the back, and up he went to the top floor.

There he saw weapons spread around a carpet, more backpacks, and enough supplies to last the entirety of the Games. The only problem, he wasn't alone. Noelani Lenoire and Chase Whittaker fled the moment he entered, bursting out on the balcony and helping each other escape over the edge without injury, but through another hidden door, none other than Chip appeared at the exact time Lucian did.

They exchanged one look, and that was enough.

"Oh," the boy from Five breathed, staring.

"Oh indeed."

They looked at a large, khaki coloured backpack in the centre of the room, then at each other, and lunged. Chip was heavier than he looked, the impact of his body slamming into Lucian shook the boy's confidence, nearly sending him toppling sideways into a wardrobe.

"Just back off and we'll leave it at that."

"I could," Lucian breathed out, "but I want that backpack."

"Over my dead body."

"Precisely." Lucian didn't want to necessarily kill him- in fact more than anything, he felt like he was about to vomit with the fear gnawing away inside. But this was the Games. Things had to be done. The worst kinds of things.

Chip elbowed Lucian in the jaw. Stars burst into his eyes, a white hot pain flaring up the right side of his face. Lucian punched back, hooking him the forehead, pushing off from the carpet and getting one arm through a strap.

Chip threw himself on top of Lucian once again, kicking the backpack away, pulling Lucian's arm with it. _Fuuuuck! _His shoulder felt like it had been ripped out of its socket. He pushed Chip off of him with his other arm and clawed his way along the carpet, towards the backpack that had now opened.

_Wait… is that?... _He lunged just as Chip grabbed him by the feet. In one direction they both went, back towards the balcony, Lucian on the floor struggling, Chip about to haul the boy over the edge to die from the fall.

Only Lucian had other plans.

The knife he'd seen in the backpack found Chip's ankle. The younger boy swore, kicking Lucian away, bending down with furious, tear-filled eyes.

"Over your dead body huh?" Lucian made his way onto his feet. "Guess it's now my backpack." The knife tore straight up Chip's jaw, jaggedly cutting away his flesh until it hit his eye. Chip screamed once, gurgled twice, and then fell to the floor in a bloody heap.

Dead.

"Sorry." Lucian patted down his overalls, getting a proper grip on the backpack. "We can't all be winners."

As the boy from Three disappeared back down the side cupboard, through the front door, he caught sight of the girls from Five and Twelve disappearing too, away from sight. Tymas and Lazaro were side by side, gathering supplies on the front garden, but he paid them no attention.

He ran, like the two girls, and that was that.

He had his supplies.

He had a kill – as terrible as he expected he might feel in the future. _Maybe, we'll see. _For him, the bloodbath was over.

For others, however, the bloodbath was only just beginning to heat up.

Henry was trying with all his might to get a good clean shot on the bastard beneath him. But like an annoying, stubborn idiot, the kid just wouldn't bloody die. He stabbed again. Ramon moved out of its way, rolling from the bottom step and into the hallway. The front table was knocked over. Luck seemed to be on Ramon's side as the phone toppled off, hitting Henry in the side of the head, giving him enough time to fling himself upwards and move towards the kitchen.

_I can be just as annoying, _Henry propelled himself on his elbows along the carpet, hooking his arms round Ramon's legs and bringing him back to the ground with a loud thump. His jaw smacked hard into the plastic and he groaned, loudly, pain bursting like fireworks across his face.

"Can't find your friends?" Henry laughed, inching closer, standing up. "These are my besties, say hello." Ramon looked over, dizzy, at the knives he clutched in his fingers.

"Which one wants to meet this poor little idiot first?" He picked up one knife, gave it a tilt, and nodded.

_I am not dying. Not. Today. _Ramon forced himself onto his feet, picked up a picture frame from the wall, and took a step in Henry's direction, ready to bring the full force of a pretty little photo onto this shithead's face.

Only, that one step was all fate allowed him. Saira's knife found the back of his skull. In a single second, he went from a determined, ready to fight tribute, to just another corpse.

"Don't play with them Henry," Saira said, from the kitchen entrance, knocking over the plastic doll to make room. The throwing knives were in her hands, only one missing, the one now in Ramon's head.

"Sorry Saira."

Like a child, he moved towards the kitchen, but at the sight of her smile, he broke out into his own, running to join her in their hunt for more tributes. More death. More _fun. _

Just as the two Careers disappeared from the left window's view, Casimar and Clarette fled side by side. The girl from Ten had a machete in one hand, the boy from Nine a spear in his own.

"Did you see Lazaro?"

"There," Clarette motioned to the right side of the front garden. Both boys were still sorting through supplies- safe enough with no one nearby except their fellow ally. Casimar and Clarette wouldn't pick a fight, not right now, especially given one of them was Clarette's District partner.

Casimar knew if he ever met Noelani, he wouldn't have it in him, at this stage, to kill her.

"Let's go."

He nodded, and together, the two of them turned down one side of the street and headed in the direction of whatever awaited beyond.

Still within the bloodbath area, Eliasi peered out from behind the front door of the house adjacent to the mock Cornucopia. It might not have been the bravest choice of action, but it was the smartest. Hiding as the tributes were mixed amongst each other, waiting for things to die down, she'd taken the coward's option.

And now Jasper…

She shook her head. _If he's alive, he'll be somewhere nearby. I'm not leaving without him, he wouldn't leave without me. _She hoped that was true. Maybe during the Capitol she'd like to have believed her upfront nature would have lent itself to the bloodbath – she'd be some strong, worthy contender who made it out of the fight unscathed. But here, she was just a girl who hid.

That didn't stop her from moving over towards the other house. Tymas and Lazaro were by the front road, side by side, staring. Her heart leapt with joy at the sight of them, and then froze when she saw tears lighting up both pairs of eyes.

"What…?"

"Ramon," Tymas pointed. Even from here, you could see into the house, and though shadowed from this distance, they must have seen who it had been when they'd been closer. Eliasi lowered her head. She didn't know the boy, but these three had been closer than close. Best friends really.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Tymas shook his head. "Yeah I know."

"Where's Jasper?" Lazaro piped up, voice strained through sorrow. Eliasi, struck with grief for her District partner's loss, snapped to attention and quickly moved for the house. Skirting round the right side, she blinked back tears, shaking her head. _I didn't lose my ally… not like them… no… no…_

She could hear voices in the house – but she didn't care. She lied to herself the whole way down the side path, until reaching the garden, until vomit burned the back of her throat, scorching her tongue as she threw up onto the rubber grass at her feet.

His head was parted from his body. What had been an innocent bundle of youthful energy was now nothing but empty nothingness.

"Eliasi…" Tymas' voice didn't make her jump. She looked up, feeling his hand on her shoulder. Tears cascaded down her cheeks. _I hid, I hid whilst he was out here, being butchered like an animal. _Her Capitol bravado had gone, only to be replaced with this, a girl fearing for her life, putting it before anyone else's, hiding for the sake of herself.

"I don't think Chip's coming Tymas," Lazaro said, mournfully.

"Eliasi. You know what I'm about to say."

She nodded, turning to wrap her arms round his shoulders. "I accept." _If I had just done this before, would he be alive… would Ramon?... _She had no way of knowing the answer. But with her new alliance, as they moved back the way they'd come, down the left hand side and away from this blood drenched house, she knew the question would repeat itself over and over inside her head.

_I'm a coward._

But she was also a survivor.

Four people around the house couldn't say the same.

A house now empty, save for the Careers.

Inside the kitchen, Saira and Vance were going through the cupboards, looking for supplies. Rayah had moved the plastic dolls out into the kitchen, Henry helping Tristian escort the dead bodies of Chip and Ramon out into the back as well. The girl from Three and boy from Eleven were already out here, so they didn't matter.

"Four." Henry said, angrily. "Only four."

"Four's enough for now."

He kicked the grass, only to curse when it hit a solid surface. "Is everything made out of this shit?"

"You don't know what this is, do you?" Tristian dropped Ramon's feet, Henry letting his head smack against the ground without respect for the dead boy.

"No. I don't care."

"It's a dollhouse Henry, these are all dollhouses. And that shadow across the sky- it looks like a lid."

"Wow."

"We're in a box. A box with dolls in, dollhouses, and I bet you other toys as well."

"So?" Henry tried to pretend he wasn't interested, but he kind of was, now the bloodbath was over. _Or was it? _"Where are we?"

"My money's on the Arena being made to look like a toybox. A giant one at that."

"Oh…"

Inside the first dollhouse of many, Rayah brought all the weapons from the first floor back to the kitchen, dropping them on the table. Rhaella was still up there – pretending to go through supplies, but Rayah knew whatever she'd done was playing on her mind.

_All she'd tried was to sex her way into Tristian's eyes without really thinking of the consequences of what being a Career really meant. _It was why Rayah had dropped that since arriving in the Capitol.

She hadn't killed, but she knew when it came to it, she could.

And she would.

"Is this all there is?" Vance asked, picking up a belt of knives and wrapping them round his waist. Saira kept her throwing knives, though she quite fancied the spear leaning against the refrigerator. _Dibs, _she thought, smiling. Ramon's death was playing on her mind, but for the sake of respect, she kept smiling and acting like this was all okay.

To get in their good books, that was the main thing.

_To be who I have to be._

Tristian and Henry re-entered the house. The boy from Two scowled at Rayah, who only returned it, tracing a finger along a knife and then smiling at him. He copied her, motioning to his own set of knives, before walking out into the corridor.

_Immature twerp, _Rayah thought. He was nearing the front door, and then, with one hand, closed it firmly, hearing it click into place.

Henry, with his back turned, smiled.

_Four isn't enough. And I'm not waiting. Why should I? There's no fun in playing the long game._

Rayah moved down the corridor. Both Tristian, Vance and Saira paid no heed to what was going on, talking amongst themselves.

"What are you?..."

Rayah met him halfway in the corridor. Henry cocked an eyebrow, smiling. "I've always hated your kind."

"Likewise. Kids who do it for the psychotic fun don't deserve to be here."

"Well, newsflash you unattractive, stupid, slutty clown," Henry fingered the blade by his hip, "I'm here to stay."

Rayah had been expecting something. But Henry received a ten for a reason. And that reason was this.

The blade went into her stomach smoothly. With a startled, agonised cry, she slumped forwards, Henry retracting his hand as blood pumped over and down his fingers.

_There really is no point to her being here. _Henry laughed. _She was just a waste of space._

He knew the others would hear – but hopefully, maybe, things had turned out right. He had a friend in the right person.

Tristian ran for him, spear in hand, looking once at Rayah, startled, and then at Henry.

"You…"

"Me…" He mocked him, mimicking his shocked tone, before flinging a knife through the air. The boy from Four went down with the blade sticking out of his eye.

He had the power here.

The Careers weren't what they were meant to be this year, if they couldn't live up to what he expected, if they wouldn't provide what needed providing, they could just die.

Saira saw everything happen. Although she felt like she was about to sick, it all made sense. Of course he would do this, of course someone like him, so sick, so messed up, so deluded in his position in this world, would convince himself that eradicating his allies this early was a good idea.

_Maybe they should have played it a little smarter, _she thought, guiltily. She'd got in his good books. And the kid was strong.

The kid knew what he was damn well doing.

And he liked her.

_I can use that._

Vance readied a spear to throw at Henry, determined to remove the stain to this alliance. Only Saira, sticking to her resolve, sticking to her will to survive, couldn't let him take out a kid that would never hurt her.

Never kill her.

A kid willing to do anything for her with his twisted sense of loyalty.

Saira's knife found the back of his neck. Vance turned, blood dripping from his lip, on to the plastic ground. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, his mouth fumbled to make a silent word that never came out, and then the third Career fell. Dead.

"You killed your District partner." Henry sounded half impressed.

Saira refused to cry. Refused to show anything but a small, pleased smile. _Because that's what he wants to see. _"You killed yours."

"What do we do with her?" He motioned to the top floor, where Rhaella was now coming down the stairs.

Saira couldn't respond. Rhaella's shriek overwhelmed anything she could have had time to say. Her eyes fell on Tristian's body and her knees went weak.

When her head connected with the bottom step, Henry nudged her with the heel of his sock. "You dead?"

"She's not dead Henry." Saira walked forwards, knife ready, just in case.

Rhaella turned to face them, curled up, glaring at both in turn, red-faced, teary-eyed. "You killed them. You killed… him…"

"Your safety net is dead, alright. Don't be such a baby." Henry took a step in her direction, knife out in front, but Saira raised a hand to stop him.

"We'll give her the choice. Rhaella, you can either stay with us, or go. Henry open the door."

He obeyed immediately, eradicating the thought of gutting this slut for the sake of whatever his friend had to say.

"What's your decision?"

_They killed him. _Rhaella felt like she was about to be sick. The same fear from the beginning came back, tenfold, attacking every nerve in her body. Being alone… without anyone… without some security… Rhaella shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. _I'm not weak. I'm not._

"I'll stay. Frankly, they were a waste of space. He wasn't even that hot." Rhaella offered Saira a smile, then Henry one, which he eagerly replied, clapping her on the back.

"I think I prefer it this way." Henry stepped over Rayah's body, ignoring it. "Want a drink?"

Saira followed him into the kitchen, Rhaella staying behind, staring at his poor face. _I made his life here hell, and now he's dead. The only Career who deserved to win…besides from me…_

She vowed, there and then, when the time was right, the two of them would pay. When she'd squeezed everything out of them- made it as far as she could with the necessary security, she'd avenge his death.

Now, it was a different game. She couldn't flirt her way into the alliance in that sort of way, but she could keep her spot by playing the willing ally.

She should have prepared herself for something like this, but now that it had happened, now that Tristian was dead, Rhaella was ready for everything.

Anything.

The bloodbath was over, but the Games had only just begun.

Three Careers dead.

_Things are different this year. _Rhaella moved for the kitchen. _Things are very different._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Arial Bold, District Three Female.<strong>_

_**Jasper Ness, District Eleven Male.**_

_**Chip Flexan, District Five Male.**_

_**Ramon Decker, District Seven Male.**_

_**Rayah Ausbern, District Two Female.**_

_**Tristian Fortier, District Four Male.**_

_**Vance Seymour, District One Male.**_

* * *

><p><strong>A massive apology to the creators of Arial, Jasper, Chip, Ramon, Rayah, Tristian and Vance. The first four went based mainly on their alliances and what their passing would enable developmentplot wise for the survivors of their respective groups. The Careers are a shock I'm sure, but I've had the plan to have three die since pretty much the beginning- though who was going to die changed over and over, as things developed over the Capitol, the result sort of presented itself to me. Still, to all these seven, I'll miss them all, and I'm thankful for you taking the time to put together their forms. I hope you continue to follow this story, if not though, I understand.**

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><p><strong>The Games have begun!<strong>

**So Tristian's little insight into his opinion on the Arena is what it is- a neighbourhood made out of dollhouses, the effect in the sky made to look like they're inside a box (so a toybox). There's more to come from the Arena, so you'll see all that as we progress.**

**Chapters will now return to POV by POV. With a bloodbath, it's a lot easier to do it this way.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. I definitely enjoyed writing it (which is why, again, it's out quick). Let me know what you thought!**


	19. Right and Wrong

**Chapter Nineteen.**

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><p><strong>Day One, Part One.<strong>

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><p><strong>Adley Proctor, 15 years old;<br>District Five Female.**

* * *

><p>Adley and Lexine were running. If they ran, no one could hurt them. If they ran, they stood a chance.<p>

The younger girl from Five turned to look at her ally, panting, with red cheeks, sweat lining her forehead, hair streaming behind her. She looked in pain. And scared, more terrified than Adley felt.

She didn't want to really believe that she'd made it out alive, when really, everything started getting a whole lot worse from this point on. But she did. She felt confident even. If two young girls, two tributes cast off as bloodbaths, could actually survive the first state, who said they couldn't last a long time?

Or one of them even winning. _One of them. _Adley grimaced at that. Looking at Lexine again, she couldn't picture such a sweet young girl like her dying, but then again she couldn't picture her winning either. Or herself.

They finally came to a halt, veering round the corner of the main Square and down another identical street. It was house after house. Adley knew they were dollhouses. She'd once had her own as a little kid – Lexine seemed stunned when she'd blurted that loud.

She was an awfully nice girl, but dim. _How can dollhouses be this big? _The Gamemakers could do whatever they wanted, Adley knew that, Lexine had to understand that in here, in the Arena, things were very different.

Bad things happened.

Adley didn't want to bring her down, more than anything she wanted to help her friend cling onto that blissful naivety in a way, anything to keep her happy, but then she saw how disastrous that might turn out to be, and had no way of really knowing what to do.

If she should shatter such innocence, or let it continue. Which was the better option? The kinder option?

"I think we've ran far enough," Adley said, placing both hands on a fence. Her knees were shaking. Her heart beating so loud she could hear it in her ears. "We should look and see what we got."

"It doesn't feel like much." Lexine gave it a shake, smiling. She passed over the backpack, moving to stand next to a much shorter Adley. Though neither girl really had said it out loud, they both knew Adley was the more focused one here.

The more mature.

The one who really knew what a tribute meant.

Lexine hadn't wanted to admit out loud how out of her depth she was, but Adley had seen it anyway. The girl knew where they were, what happened, but she didn't quite see light and dark the same way Adley did. She'd been through a lot, with her family and with friends. Though not quite the same as a life and death match, she'd at least been through something.

Lexine had had an easy life.

She didn't know pain.

"We need food more than anything," Adley sighed, rummaging through the backpack. From the bottom she took out a bottle of water, some kind of fruit bar, matches and some arrowheads.

"What are we supposed to do with those?" Lexine shoved her finger at the pointed bits of metal, frowning.

"We use them as weapons."

"Why?"

"To kill people." Adley said. Not that she wanted to kill anyone. But really, she wasn't an idiot. She wasn't going to kid herself that this would be a walk in the park, the two girls being allowed to stay safe forever. If they had to kill, they had to kill. _If. What could two girls like us really do? _She ignored that. Doubt like that wouldn't help at all.

"But what if we don't want to kill people?"

"We have to Lexine," Adley gave one arrowhead to Lexine, just in case, and kept one for herself. Then they each took a sip of water and that was that, the supplies went back into the backpack and they moved for the house.

"I don't want to kill. Not ever."

"Maybe you won't have to," Adley tried to force a smile onto her face. Lexine knew it was a possibility that she'd have to kill, or die herself, but she was stubborn in her own way. It made Adley sad. Sad that it couldn't last. Neither of them could retain what they wanted in themselves. Adley knew that. She'd accepted that.

Once inside the house, they split up to search the bottom floor and top. It looked the same as the one from earlier, only they hadn't really been through that one, so neither girl could be totally sure. Adley moved for the kitchen as Lexine went up the stairs, smiling to herself. Whatever she was thinking, Adley didn't want to ask. Maybe it would be best to just let her stay as the kind of girl she wanted to be.

The kind of girl that got destroyed, eventually. But for now, there was no harm in it. Nothing bad could happen.

Hopefully.

Doubtfully.

Lexine screamed.

If Adley hadn't been holding onto something, she might have fallen over. The same feeling of terror flooded through her as she turned around and bolted up the stairs, holding onto the arrowhead so tight she felt it cutting into her fingers.

"LEXINE!" Her screams had died down. Now it was total silence except for her own frantic heartbeat, her own sharp breathing. _She's alright, she's alright, she's-_

Adley turned round one of the doors and froze. Lexine stood next to her, pale as a sheet, shivering at the sight before them.

If the bloodbath had been scary. This… this was something else.

A single, lonesome cot stood in the centre of the room. A mobile hung over it, twirling, without any music coming out. Where a baby might have been, tucked up in blissful sleep, the sheets had been torn apart, bloody and splayed over the edges of the cot.

The wallpaper with bright colours and playful symbols was bloody too, tiny little red handprints, dragged along towards where Adley and Lexine were now stood.

"The toys..." Lexine's' voice was faint. Terrified. All the teddy bears, all the little figurines and items such a child might have loved were broken, thrown around, mixed in with the blood. She could smell it. That awful scent she'd come to associate with fear and death.

And then, the worst thing.

"Adley… look…" Lexine pointed at the opposite wall. She felt faint. She felt like she was about to collapse. It had only just started. _What is this… what's going to happen…? _

On the wall, there were five long slits, cut into the wallpaper, tiny specks of blood where the fingers would have been. Like claws. Like knives. And there, draped over one side of the cot, was a long, black coat. An adult's coat.

"I don't…understand…" Lexine turned to walk away.

What was the coat?

What happened here?

Adley kept staring, she couldn't break eye contact. If this was a sign of what was going to happen, what was inside this Arena, maybe dying in the bloodbath would have been better.

Easier.

Peaceful.

_We're both going to die… _Adley knew it was true, but had hoped, maybe, someway, she could have had the chance to make it out. This was reality slapping her in the face.

She was just a little girl, way in over her head.

With an ally who refused to kill people.

_How am I supposed to win? _Adley shook once more, closed her eyes for a second, and then turned to follow Lexine. _That's easy. I can't. I won't._

_I'm going to die. _

_That's how this ends._

There were no happy endings.

* * *

><p><strong>Chase Whittaker, 18 years old;<br>District Twelve Male.**

* * *

><p>Noelani was different.<p>

When Noelani offered him the kindest of smiles, and all he had a return was a weird twitch of the jaw, locked in focus rather than how he should have come across, Noelani didn't mind. She didn't think he was something odd, something she should distance herself from. Unless he was perceiving her actions the complete wrong way, something told him that he'd picked the right ally.

A person who understood the ways of the Game, but understood Chase as well, just as much as he understood her.

They were currently walking side by side, in the middle of an open road, eyeing each house with concern. Frankly, the bloodbath, the house, the dolls, the chaos, all of it had driven them both to paranoia. Neither wanted to admit to the other they were scared of what could happen at any second, without them being ready, but Chase knew this feeling. Knew this inadequacy inside of him.

More than anything he felt like he should be stronger for Noelani. Not that she wasn't strong herself, but rather than wallow in the way he felt inwardly, outwardly he had to come across as capable. Someone that wasn't a burden. Someone that could actually fight when it came to it.

"Do we have a plan?" Noelani smiled at him, though it was more a worried smile. Chase knew why she was worried. He hadn't a plan in mind at all. _Keep walking, just keep walking and everything will be… better than death at least. _He couldn't force himself to say, or think, that everything would be okay.

Because they wouldn't. Not here, not whilst they were in an Arena, where if even one member of this alliance won, it meant the other had to die.

No, here the most optimistic someone could be was better than death. Because if you weren't dead, you were surviving, and that meant something.

_I made it out the bloodbath, _that was something he could be proud of. If he couldn't feel good about himself in any other way, that was one piece of this whole disaster that merited some ounce of self-satisfaction.

"I think we should just… keep going." Chase said, awkwardly. He didn't want to put her off. Not that he didn't understand social interaction, not that he didn't understand how he should talk. It was just about putting those words into action. And that just didn't run well with him. Walking was better than talking, in his mind. At least Noelani valued silence as much as he did. At least she didn't want to make him uncomfortable, like he didn't want to make her feel burdened by his presence.

They got along in that way, which was weird, if he thought about it. Their alliance was built on the fact they could tell when the other person wanted to be alone to their thoughts. Not many people would have fit that role; supplied what Chase needed.

But Noelani did.

He was grateful for that.

"If you're still shook up, you know it's alright."

Chase laughed, then nodded. "I'm trying not to be. I guess it's not that easy. If you could just think away fear, no one would ever be scared."

"Hm," Noelani paused for a moment, before smiling back at him. "Yeah you're right. I'm terrified, quite honestly, I don't think I've ever felt like my insides were fighting to actually push out of my stomach."

"I know the feeling."

With anyone else, Chase wouldn't have said those words. He wouldn't have admitted even to himself that he was scared. He'd have buckled down, swallowed whatever contaminated his resolve, and moved on with it.

Noelani, again, was different. He didn't feel so on edge. He wanted to be the perfect ally for her, but for once, maybe imperfection was exactly what she needed. Imperfection made it perfect. _I haven't felt this way before… _

"Did you ever watch much of the Games back at home?"

Sudden images of himself sitting round the television set came to the forefront of his mind. He looked once at the Arena, how peaceful it was, and couldn't quite remember seeing much of that. Maybe they didn't broadcast these scenes unless absolutely necessary. Or maybe there was just always something going on that moments of boding meant nothing.

It made him quite angry to think that way. Scenes of normal teenagers getting on couldn't be shown because of a lack of blood and death.

He looked once at the sky, where a camera might be, and frowned. It was a silent act of rebellion, almost. He could be with his friend without having to feel like they were both going to die, without feeling like he was being pushed to do something bad. Noelani and him, for as long as it took, would just do this.

Walk.

Walk until they couldn't walk any longer.

Before Chase could answer, however, Noelani paused, raising a hand to stop Chase's movements. He looked at her, then at the front, and back to Noelani.

The boy from Nine was walking side by side with the petite girl from Ten. Though they were facing the other way, it wouldn't take long for them to see them. Chase gnawed the inside of his mouth, his stomach somersaulting nervously, his brain on haywire.

_What do I do? What now? They wouldn't hurt us, but I might… would I have to hurt them?_

Chase had prepared himself mentally and physically for the right course of action, if it came down to it. At home, right and wrong were different to the right and wrong of the Hunger Games. If he had to kill, he had to kill.

But he didn't want to right now.

Not when they didn't have to.

"Noelani, quickly." He tugged on her sleeve, pulling her towards the direction of one of the houses. If they could skirt round the left side, they'd be out of sight. Only Noelani pulled the other way, releasing herself from his grip.

"Maybe we could…"

"No," Chase said it without even having to think. _Noelani is my ally. My friend. No one else. They're just tributes to me, to us. Just people in the way. _He pretended that he didn't feel sick at the notion. That it didn't make him feel wrong just thinking like that. "Noelani, he's your District partner, I get it. But if he wanted to ally with you, he'd have done so. He didn't. Come on."

He was practically pleading with her. The bloodbath had been enough of a precarious situation, he didn't need anymore, not today. Noelani looked at him, then at the front where they would soon arrive, and nodded sadly.

"You're right."

She followed him, down the side of the house and into the back garden. They saw the two of them appear where they'd been moments later, walking side by side, before going left down a junction and out of sight. The bloodbath was down the other road, they were going the opposite way.

It was like a maze of these plastic houses. These little neighbourhoods, conjoined by concrete road. Chase was scared, again.

He admitted it to himself. If they kept walking, eventually they'd bump into someone. There was nothing they could about that.

"Noelani..."

"Yes?" She looked at him, the life in her eyes from earlier, when things seemed peaceful, gone now that Casimar was out of sight.

He wished he felt the same way about Lexine. But he didn't. If anything, maybe it was better if she was dead now, instead of having to suffer. A girl like her needed peace.

She didn't need the Games.

"We should follow them."

"What?" Her voice raised in pitch. Out of hope? Or out of fear? "Why?"

"If we're going to have a plan, then let's make it this. We follow them. We observe from a distance. And when we're ready, when we know it's safe, we…"

"We?"

Chase didn't want to say it. It wasn't as bad as killing, definitely not. He couldn't do that to someone Noelani was close to. But this… this was practical.

This was what being a tribute meant.

"We steal their supplies." Noelani's eyes widened. "We take everything."

* * *

><p><strong>Therese Chaney, 16 years old;<br>District Eleven Female.**

* * *

><p>The second Holly walked away, Sherina grabbed Therese by the hand, pulling her into the kitchen. When Holly's footsteps upstairs receded, she turned, frantically, staring right at Therese.<p>

"What?"

At this particular moment, Therese didn't feel like talking. She didn't really feel like doing much of anything. Soon enough, it might go away, this feeling that nothing would get better, but right now she just wanted to act like a teenager would act. She wanted to be allowed the chance to grieve for a friend's death.

Sherina wouldn't let her do that.

"We can't stay here with her Therese, we can't let ourselves willingly fall for what she's doing."

"Holly…" Therese paused, frowning. She knew something was up. Something bad. And maybe, maybe if Arial had survived, if Therese could actually function without feeling like the strength she'd wanted for herself wasn't crumbling into disaster, she'd speak up about it.

But now with an ally dead, she had to believe Holly was alright. Not just for the sake of their alliance, but for the sake of her sanity. She couldn't deal with losing another ally. Not yet. Not now.

"Holly won't show it yet, but come on, we've seen it so many times. Allies turning on allies."

"Allies have to turn on allies. Only one person wins."

"Friends don't turn on friends. They walk away. She won't. She'll kill us before moving on for the sake of herself."

Therese sighed, slumping back into the plastic wall, dragging a hand through her tangled hair. "You're going off what her District partner had to say. How can you trust him? Don't you think he could be the one manipulating an entire alliance, planting a seed of doubt, letting that grow so one of the largest groups falls apart and gives him a better chance at survival?"

They were whispering, but Therese could feel the grief of Arial's passing turning into a sudden, swift anger. She liked Sherina, more than she'd expected she would in an ally, but that didn't mean she'd let Sherina dictate how this was going to go. They had no leader – they worked together, they listened. Sherina was letting herself be blinded by what one little, deluded, arrogant boy had to say about a girl he might know things about, or might not.

There were just too many variables. Too many things to consider.

"I just know, alright." Sherina bit her lip, her eyes dropping to the ground. "I can tell."

"What are the signs, then? Do we have to be looking over our shoulders every minute of every day?"

"Here, in the Arena, yeah." Sherina stepped back, pulling a chair away and dropping down, placing her chin in her hands. She looked as distraught as Therese felt. Arial had wormed her way into their hearts, like the young girl was bound to do to anyone. Someone with an infectious attitude like that, for it to suddenly be gone, extinguished… nothing would be the same.

"I know where we are. What has to happen. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let my last few days-" she paused, realising her fists were clenched, that blood was now at the back of her throat, her lip chewed up. _My last few days… but what happened to being ready?_ She was. She still wanted to win, to go all the way. Just right now, she wanted to be allowed to say goodbye to her friend, without Sherina bringing it all back to Holly, bringing it back to what could happen, all these what ifs that might not be true.

"-I'm not going to let my last few days be dictated by what someone else has to say. Someone we don't know. We know Holly, and if you're right, and she turns out to be someone else, then we deal with it then. But what we're not going to do is get rid of an ally when she might not have any intentions except the wellbeing of the three of us."

"But-"

"No, Sherina. If you're saying look for signs, maybe you trying to separate the alliance is a sign. Maybe the fact you want us to be apart should tell me you're the one I should watch out for."

She stood up. Shock registered across her face, then hurt, and then her eyes reached the floor and she shivered once. Therese knew she'd said the wrong thing – Sherina just wanted what was best for the two of them, as did Therese. She wanted both of them, and Holly, to just get through this together.

Blaine Carrigan had been right, they'd seen so many Hunger Games, seen what happened, and she didn't want what could be her last moments on this earth to be spent apart from the people that were close to her in this Arena. At this time.

She wanted to grieve.

Wanted to cry.

Wanted to be with her friends.

And then move on, when she ready. It would be soon, but right now, she needed time. This Holly business wasn't what Therese needed right now. No one did. No one needed any more pain than they'd already been through – not yet.

"I'm not going to say it's stupid for you to think that, because, yeah, who knows if I'm here manipulating you. For all you know I could be. What I do know is that the girl up there will hurt what we have, and I can't just sit back and let that happen."

"So what are you saying?"

Sherina and Therese made eye contact. Over training, they'd shared so many looks, so many moments together like they had known one another for so long. Laughed, joked, poked fun at one another like regular, normal teenagers. The kind of teenager Therese had always been.

Now it was a look broken already, broken by the death of someone, broken by the Games. It was overwhelming everything Therese stood for in her life.

"I'm saying… I'll stay. But I need only one sign, one more feeling, one anything and that's it. I'll do what has to be done." She eyed the knife on the table, the only weapon she had to her name. "Holly dies."

A few seconds later, they heard her footsteps, and stopped talking entirely. Therese forced a pained smile onto her face, whilst Sherina just looked away when Holly walked in, trying to express something other than grief. That's what Therese liked about Holly. She was a normal girl, but strong, she missed Arial, wanted the time to accept her death like Therese did, and then move on.

Sherina was too caught up in paranoia. The Games were getting to her way too fast. They'd only just begun, they could have a day to settle. A day to get prepared.

"I think we should stay here for the night," Holly said, looking between the two of them. "There are two beds upstairs. I had to move the dolls into another room, but there's space. Come on, look."

She led them to the first floor, smiling for the sake of smiling. Trying. At least she was trying. Therese respected that, she needed that right now.

When they pushed open the door of the bedroom, Holly stepped forwards, then back, gasping.

Sherina and Therese were there by her side in a flash, gawping at the bed.

"But I…" Two dolls, a man and a woman, were under the cover, staring with smiles in the direction of the three girls. Plastic faced, immobile, lifeless. "I put them in the other room…"

"We are not staying here," Sherina said.

Therese agreed, finally, with her friend from District Seven.

They were falling out over some things, but this, this was a no brainer.

They were not staying in the houses. No way.

The houses weren't safe.

* * *

><p><strong>Lucian St. Laurent, 17 years old;<br>District Three Male.**

* * *

><p>He was still trying to work out how he felt.<p>

It hadn't been very long – maybe a few hours at most – and still Lucian could see Chip Flexan's face. See the knife he had held in his hand. The ruin of his skin: the chin, the mouth, the nose, the eye. Lucian couldn't work out if he was about to be sick because of his actions, or if this was just the nerves that accompanied the Games.

After all, it had to be normal to feel a little anxious. He wasn't an idiot. Far from it. It was literally a life and death match now, no more pretending in the Capitol, no more make belief that friends are real, that the Careers are just there to intimidate you with their fancy weapon skills. Now those skills would be put to good use – put to the task of murdering people like Lucian if he got in the way.

Right now, he was doing as much as he could to stay as far from those lunatics as possible.

The neighbourhood was rather peaceful, if creepy. The houses weren't just the same size, they were the same colour, same shape, had the same features of the clean-cut balcony, the same steps leading to the same plastic door.

It was eerie, and Lucian didn't like it. He'd much rather be in a forest, even though he had absolutely no clue about trees. At least there, things were a bit more… lively. It was just him, on his own, walking on the edge of a road between each house, over the picket fences so he wasn't caught out in the open.

That was the last thing he wanted: to be seen. If he was seen, he'd have to fight, and though the adrenaline had been there during the bloodbath, it was slowly starting to wear off. He brought a hand to his jaw and winced at the pain that flared up the side of his face. It would bruise definitely.

In the backpack he had a bandage and some painkillers, but a bump on the mouth wouldn't make him waste such valuable supplies. He had to be clever about this. Live up to the stereotype of his District.

_Now what, though? Really… now what…? _He looked around him and felt strangely alone. _Yeah… _At least in the Capitol he'd had Arial to nag at him, a contest with her to see how much he could annoy her without having to even do much. Without her, or any of the tributes to judge, or watch from afar, or even envy in ways he refused to admit to himself, he just felt like there was nothing to do but stalk the streets, stay in the shadows, and wait it out.

But that was boring.

Boring wouldn't get him anywhere. He had to be smart about reserving supplies, about not getting into unnecessary fights, but that didn't mean by not getting into any fights, he had to stay as far away from the action as possible. He could play it smart, but play the Game the way the Capitol would want. If he entertained them, then they'd see a worthy contender. He hated the idea of having to be validated by such colourful morons, but it didn't matter.

They controlled his life now, just as much as he did. It was up to him to get out of a fight, but if the Capitol wanted some action, saw he wasn't doing anything, they'd provide a fight at the worst possible moment.

_But if I'm one step ahead… _He eyed the knife in his hand, the one he'd killed Chip with was back in the house, but he'd found another one nestled at the bottom of the backpack amongst some crackers and cheese.

With the knife, he had power. Power over life and death. Again, he couldn't tell if he was thrilled at being in such a wonderful position, or scared because the position he thought was great was actually the worst he could be in. After all, without allies, unless he did something, _something_ to catch people's eyes, that was it.

He was a loner without purpose. And he'd die for it.

Lucian made up his mind, on the spot, there and then. Turning around, he headed back a little bit. He wouldn't go back to the central square of this toy-town, but he'd linger near the edge, scope out other tributes, plot and plan how to take them out without them even knowing it was him.

After all, he had a kill, the Capitol must see him as a contender at the moment, and if he moved about without anyone noticing, that would up his chances even more. He wanted to feel valued, even if he hated the idea of having to work for it – he wanted to believe he was a valuable person anyway. The hard work was just something extra.

He was prepared, though, to do the dirty work if it meant his life. Other tributes could cling to their friends and fantasies, believe it would all be okay if they had someone to talk to, but when you boiled it down to what the Games where, only him and the Careers really knew. He'd killed. He'd felt something, and for as long as he was working out what that feeling was, he could desensitize himself from the guilt by doing it again and again.

He eyed the rope at the bottom of his bag, gripped onto the knife harder and continued to backtrack. He could play it safe and continue walking, onwards, further away, but further away meant further away from anything happening. The town might not be too big – but with all these houses, and whatever other secrets were stored within, it could take forever for him to accidentally bump into the action.

He had to seek it himself.

Stealthily.

If he did it that way, he wouldn't get hurt, he'd only cause the pain. It was necessary. Needed for his life. He vaulted over a picket fence, snuck behind the house and went on his way. Sooner or later he'd maybe search through some of the houses, look for supplies, find something more for himself. But right now he was in a prime position to observe the tributes, wait it out, and prepare.

_Maybe I am alone, but that doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean I have to be a nobody. _He'd always wanted to feel like a somebody. If people liked him or not, he might have pretended that didn't matter, but it sort of did.

Respect over whether he was likeable – maybe that's what mattered most. And he'd have people's respect here. By doing this, no one could say he wasn't trying. That he wasn't a survivor.

_I'm surviving how we're supposed to survive. The way tributes are meant to play this._

People could hate him for that.

But people couldn't hate him for wanting to win.

Wanting to live.

And that's what he wanted more than anything. To go home a Victor. It was possible by playing it how he was about to play it.

A few more kills. A few more lives and he'd have saved his own.

That's how he had to think.

He was more than willing to be the villain. If it meant his life, he'd play the bad guy.

* * *

><p><strong>Not much to really say this time round. Thanks for all your support on the last chapter.<strong>

**There might be a couple more no death chapters here and there, not sure. I never write the longest Games, but I try not to make them too short either. Expect around 11 or 12 chapters until we have the victor!**


	20. Nightmare

**Chapter Twenty.**

* * *

><p><strong>Day One, Part Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Blaine Carrigan, 16 years old;<br>District Six Male.**

* * *

><p>He tried not to admit it to himself, but truthfully, he was surprised to be alive.<p>

He had ran, he had given up to skirt along the edge of the bloodbath and flee, but… _still… _

He was relieved, definitely. But more than anything, Blaine was shocked. The Careers had been there. But not only that, Holly's promise had kept him up the entire night before the Games, and he'd been so sure there was nothing he could do about her.

_You, silly…_

_You…_

He was too scared to die. Too scared to come across another tribute. More than anything, he was ashamed to admit any of that to himself. He was in over his head, out of his depth, in a situation without any allies, any sense of direction, and a girl out there with a target on him.

He peeked out from the house he'd sheltered himself in, looking once down the left hand side of the road, then again down the right. It was way too calm. Nothing was happening. Inside the house, he'd removed the dolls that gave him the creeps out into the garden, but they'd only returned the moment Blaine had turned his back.

Really, he just wanted to be with someone. It was funny how that always worked, how he'd always strived to better himself from everyone, detached himself from them so they understood what he was, what he could do. Now, more than anything, company was the most important thing to him, and he'd ruined any chance of that.

_Maybe I am useless… maybe everyone else is right…_

He blinked back tears. If they were right, if he was useless, then this was the best moment, his one true opportunity to actually prove to them what he could do, live up to his words rather than doing nothing to show for it. If he could win, actually come out alive against all odds, they couldn't doubt him any longer.

_I just have to be smart about it, use my head for a change and keep my mouth shut. _He stepped out of the house, paused, expecting something bad to happen, and then carried on down when everything looked as peaceful as it was bound to get. _Stay out of trouble and you can do this. Come on Blaine!_

He held onto the only backpack he had. Inside, because of where he'd collected the bag, right near his pedestal, there was nothing but one slice of bread and half a bottle of water. The Gamemakers had made things tough for him straight from the off.

But he still held onto hope that what he'd done to Holly's alliance would show itself eventually. Maybe the Capitol liked him for injecting a little drama into things. Maybe that was something he had over the other tributes, a factor that would give him a little boost when things got bad.

He hoped so.

Otherwise, he was just a lone, sad, hopeful tribute wandering around a town, not knowing where to go. No direction. Nothing but house, after house, after house.

Still, he wouldn't let that get him down. He tried with all his might to forget about how scared and helpless he felt, and focus on being productive. All the houses had taps that didn't work. He bet the Cornucopia house had running water, but the rest were bust.

If he found a supply of water, then he'd be set. _That's my first step: find water. _He nodded to himself and set off down the road, turning a left and continuing on.

He made it only a few, small, tiny, impossibly short steps when a hand snagged him from the back. He bit his tongue, holding back a scream, tumbling backwards onto someone.

From the side of the house, whoever it was had jumped him, and now he was lying on his back, gazing up at…at…

_No._

_Oh fuck no._

"Miss me," Holly smiled at him, tilting her head. "Oh come on now Blaine, at least look like you're happy to see me."

"That'll be a first." He'd bitten his tongue so hard blood was welling up in his mouth, but he still had some bite, still had enough in him to spit red in her face.

She didn't even react. When it slid down her cheek, she only smiled again and bent down to his level, lending him a hand.

"Come on buddy, let's get you up." He stared at her hand. _Don't take it… don't take it… _But he did. Holly helped Blaine settle onto his feet. Though he was sixteen and Holly only a year older, she seemed so much more intimidating, looking at him, doing nothing but grinning.

"Your allies…"

"Will stay in the garden where I left them. They think I've gone to scout things out a bit. I mean I did, but look what I've scouted, oh," she clapped her hands together, "this couldn't have gone any better."

He had half a mind to run. Why was this happening so soon? Just when he'd escaped certain death, fate had a funny way of throwing him straight back into it again. Holly stepped forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Come on Blaine, you know that."

He only stared at her, silenced. Fear had constricted his throat. He didn't want to die… not only when he'd just gotten himself ready… prepared… _no._

"You've made things a lot harder for me. One of my allies isn't buying it and I'm struggling. I can't just let that slide, y'know? If this were the District, I'd do something to get back at you. Not kill you," she laughed, like it was the funniest thing, "no in Six, I'd never kill someone. But in the Hunger Games, revenge has to be that, doesn't it? Murder? Yeah… I am sorry Blaine. I gotta do what's right for me." She stepped forwards. "I'll make it quick-"

"Holly?"

Both of the tributes from Six turned to see Therese and Sherina, walking out from the side of the house. At that exact moment of hope, blossoming inside of Blaine's chest, knowing she couldn't do it in front of them, Holly's hand struck him in the face, a red flush overwhelming her cheeks.

"Help!" She stumbled back. "He just attacked me… he tried… he was going to kill me…" Her voice was frantic. Therese and Sherina then looked at him. The girl from Eleven stepped forwards, determined. Sherina looked between everyone, then sighed, shrugging her shoulders to herself.

They were coming after him.

She actually had control over them. They believed her. They bought into this sick façade.

Blaine turned around before any of them could get a hand on him, legging it down the road, frantically trying to escape their pursuit. He could hear Holly's voice, high-pitched, wailing that he was a murderer, that she was so scared, as he continued to run.

Once round a corner, he went into the nearest house before they could see him. They continued to run past, Blaine listening out for them, one eye peering out from behind the window.

Holly stepped back, her two allies ahead of her, the same smile from earlier on her sick, twisted face.

"I'll find you Blaine," she said, quietly, but loud enough for him to hear from the distance between them. "And when I do… oh… you'd wished I'd gotten it over with."

He slid back down onto the carpet, curling into a ball, and for the first time in forever, started to cry.

_I don't want to die… _

_I don't…_

_Please…_

_Someone._

_Anyone._

* * *

><p><strong>Rhaella Cresswell, 18 years old;<br>District Four Female.**

* * *

><p>Henry wouldn't do it. Whether he wanted to, or didn't want to, Rhaella knew it made no difference.<p>

He sat with his legs kicked up on the table, playing with the knife in one hand, and enjoying a cup of water in the other. Rhaella glared his way the entire walk through the kitchen and out the door, Rayah's corpse over one shoulder.

If they wouldn't clear the house of their actions, she would do it.

It was the least she could do.

Not that she'd ever really cared much about Rayah, or Vance. But they deserved better than this. It was funny how she'd gone through the whole of the Capitol, in fact her whole life, knowing that her allies would have to die. Knowing, or hoping, that she wouldn't care. If she didn't care, then nothing could affect her.

Maybe it was the shock factor that made her think she did care. Rayah's body hit the grass, piled up next to Vance's, ready to be collected. She hoped it wouldn't last long – the fact she felt she was going to be sick, or lunge at Henry, or Saira, at any given moment.

She knew one thing: she hated them both. Henry had always been a little creep, but Saira… Saira seemed different. She seemed like someone Rhaella could get along with, not place her trust in, but get along with.

She only had to look at what happened to three people who had placed their trust in her. They were dead; Rhaella cleaning house.

She dreaded the next bit. Walking past Henry who looked at her all the way, she gritted her teeth, stopping herself from saying anything. He thought she was happy to be here. Thought she liked him. If she could keep that up, it would get her far enough, until it was time to take him out, like he'd taken out half of their alliance in just a few seconds.

She couldn't use what she'd wanted to use – manipulate her way into the eyes, brain and heart of someone. But she could do that in a different way. Saira had gotten into the little creep's system someway, Rhaella had to just try the same. Get Henry to devote his warped loyalty to her, and then everything would work out alright.

It was the best she could do.

Otherwise…

She looked down at Tristian's dead body and bit back a sob. Saira walked down the stairs the exact same time she flung him over her shoulder. Luckily he was light, that she was grateful for. But more than anything, she just wished he wasn't dead. Eventually he would have had to have died, but not this early, not without knowing it was his time to go. Not before maybe… apologising.

She'd been doing her own thing to survive. He must have known that, even if it had cost him some sense of dignity during the Capitol.

Once back out in the garden, she heard Saira finally speak up, the first words they'd said to each other since the end of the bloodbath.

"I'm going to help Rhaella, there's something I need to talk to her about." _Great, just what I need. _"Mind the house, make sure no one gets in."

"Aye aye," Henry said, laughing to himself. Like it was funny. Like he was special.

Rhaella stopped herself, again, from shouting out how she really felt. Instead, when Saira placed a hand on her shoulder, she turned on the spot, stood up from where she'd been kneeling to get Tristian next to Rayah and Vance, and smiled at her.

"The rest of this day will be quiet, not much to do. They'll be fine with the dramatic bloodbath, we won't need to really go out and hunt until tomorrow at the earliest."

Saira nodded. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Go ahead." She continued to smile at her, as difficult as it was, as much as she wanted to kill the deceiving bitch before her. Rhaella would never have done what she did – not yet, not until it was necessary. They'd both volunteered to kill people, sure. But the difference was, she tore apart an alliance that mutually understood they'd stick together for as long as they could.

It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

Now, more than anything, Rhaella hated her for stealing her own peace of mind. Without such a large alliance, she felt exposed. It was selfish, but it was true. _And Tristian, as selfish as I might be, I did care about him… I did…_

"I know what you're really thinking, Rhaella. I'm not an idiot." Saira sighed, sitting down against the grass. Rhaella looked down at the top of her head, then next to her, and decided to just give in and hear her out.

"What do you mean?"

They exchanged eye contact. Saira looked serious. The smile was gone, so Rhaella dropped her own. "He killed Rayah and Tristian. I killed Vance. You might not have been close with us, but you supported our alliance in your own way. I can see it, what you really think, what you really want to do…"

"I-"

"You hate us. Me, him. Maybe me even more because you know he can't help it, he wants this more than anything. The killing, maybe not even the victory. But me," Saira sighed, shaking her head, "what's my excuse? I killed Vance because Vance was going to kill Henry. Like he stole your security net, the one person who would have been there for you, I couldn't let him take out mine. Does that make me a bad person?"

"I don't-"

"It does," Saira continued to speak, looking at Rhaella, then at the window where they could see Henry trapped in his own world. Whatever he thought in that head of his, Rhaella was sure it was a dark place to be, a place she'd never want to understand.

"You hate me. You want Henry dead, and you want me dead. And I know your game. I know you're being the good, compliant ally, the friend we all want in the one person we didn't kill. I understand."

"It's that obvious?" Rhaella's tone took on a whole new change. From pretend enthusiasm, to this new hollowness she felt, her mind and body contaminated with a newfound hatred. It was a part of her now. And Saira could see it. She always knew Saira was different, that she was smart, clever, and playing them all in her own special way.

Maybe she wasn't a bad person. But that didn't excuse her for what she'd done, and it never would. Rhaella still hated her. That would never change.

"I want you to know I don't blame you. I understand and even accept the fact you hate me, that you want to kill me, and that you won't do it until you feel the time is right. The fact I know doesn't mean I'm going to kill you now, or hand you over to Henry, or even let him know." Saira smiled, maybe the most genuine smile she'd seen on the troubled girl's face. "We're not friends, but we're allies. I don't hate you, Rhaella. But you can hate me, hate me all you like. Just know, when you think it's time to kill me, I'll be just as ready too."

She stood up, leaving Rhaella sat down, staring at her as she turned to walk away, back to her little pet.

"When you think it's time, I'll understand. You do what you have to do."

_I will._

_Believe me, I will._

Nothing had changed.

He'd still die.

She'd still die.

And then she'd win. Nothing would effect that. Nothing would get in her way.

They'd die.

That was final.

* * *

><p><strong>Eliasi Vallis, 16 years old;<br>District Eight Female.**

* * *

><p>The three of them were sat round a kitchen table. Between them all, a heavy sense of anguish tested them, but neither Tymas, Lazaro nor Eliasi were prepared to give in to it.<p>

If anything, the fact Tymas had been able to smile at both of them since sorting out a meagre dinner, meant a lot to Eliasi especially. Lazaro had always been tough, inside and out, really. Ramon's death had hit him hard, but he wasn't showing many signs of it.

Tymas didn't deal well with the deeper conversations about life and death, so hadn't even tried to cover the topic. And Eliasi, well, all she wanted to do was go upstairs and sleep in a bed and never wake up.

Not because she was willing to give up, but because she was the only one admitting to herself that she had failed someone she was meant to protect. What made it worse was, she had hid. Hid whilst a young boy, a little boy who reminded her so much of her younger brothers, had been decapitated in cold blood.

She couldn't deal with the thoughts inside her head, but she was at least accepting them. Whilst they talked about how hard it was, without really breaking down, Eliasi was close to it. Closer than she'd ever been before to admitting weakness. _I failed… and it's only just started…_

"We should search this house first, before we settle for the night," Lazaro said. If anyone was going to lead the alliance far into the Games, it was him. Tymas might have the right personality to get his allies together, but Lazaro was tough, and prepared more than anything to do what had to be done. Both Eliasi and Tymas tried to ignore that, Lazaro didn't.

"I'd even sleep in the same bed as Tymas, that's how tired I am," Eliasi attempted a laugh. It worked as best as it probably would right now. Give it a day or two, she hoped things would return to normal, or as normal as they could get in the Games. A place she'd seen the body of a young boy. _I should kill whoever did that to him. _She knew it was a Career. No doubt about it.

Everything inside of her had not only been torn up about what had happened, but had been angry, a red in her eyes that wouldn't go away. She wanted revenge even when she knew how stupid it was to go seeking that. She'd finally, after the worst thing that could have happened, given in to accepting an alliance that she should have done first of all.

If she blundered into an idea about getting vengeance on people who knew how to kill, she'd be going straight back to the start. Straight back to pretending she didn't care about her wellbeing just so she could do what she kidded herself was right.

If the Games could change her in one way, she hoped it would be this way. She wanted to stick by the people that could keep her sane and grounded, so she didn't do something stupid.

She wanted to be like them.

"We give this house a look over then you can sleep with Tymas all you like."

"No thanks," Tymas sat down next to Eliasi, smirking at her, despite his red eyes. "She's not my type."

"And that would be?"

"Not sure I have much of a type to be honest." Tymas laughed, taking a swig of water. They had a good bundle of supplies for an alliance that had lost a lot. Eliasi was surprised they even had it in them to think about gathering up supplies when Ramon's dead body was visible in the open hallway of the house.

At least they fought through how they felt, doing what was right, even when things were so wrong.

"Come on, let's get it done now." Lazaro offered them the weakest of smiles – he looked tired himself. But as he always did, he fought through it and stood up, going round the table and into the corridor. Eliasi and Tymas exchanged a look.

"Ladies first."

"Age before beauty," Eliasi countered, gesturing to the door.

"I'm not getting up first."

"And you call me stubborn." She stood up, pushing Tymas off the plastic chair first, and then laughing as she met up with Lazaro in the corridor. This house was a little different, on either side there were two other doors, one leading into a hidden cupboard that snuck through the house, giving them a way up without making it obvious, and a set of stairs that led down.

The basement.

"Let me guess, we're going down there."

"The safest part we should leave to last. Anything could be down there," Lazaro sounded a little bit worried. But of course, he wouldn't give in to that. Like all of them, he didn't want to just give up, even when it seemed easier to do so.

"Maybe that's why we should avoid it," Tymas said. But the three of them began walking down the rickety staircase anyway. It was pitch black, luckily one of them had found a flashlight in their backpacks, so they shone it down, illuminating a large, open, empty room.

Empty except for the shelves, either side of the wall.

"Fuck…" Eliasi breathed out, stunned, frozen at the bottom of the stairs.

"Fuck indeed." Tymas said.

"Yeah..." Lazaro offered last, shining the light closer to what they were seeing. On each shelf, a few inches apart from one another, baby dolls dressed like Eliasi sat, staring at them. Though their eyes didn't move when they were looking, with each step they took, Eliasi swore they followed them through the basement.

"Creepy baby dolls. Well then, now we know they're done here, how about we go b-"

Before Tymas could finish, his eyes widened, words dying on the tip of his tongue. One of the baby dolls was turning its head to stare at them. Its arm raised, just as all the others did the same thing.

"I don't like dolls." Eliasi muttered, horror-struck. "Maybe that's why I preferred breaking them than playing with them."

"You're a real catch," Tymas whispered.

"Shut up."

Lazaro was still staring at them, then flashing a light at the end of the room. A chest was stationed there, with the padlock snapped open, lying before it. He motioned towards it, but immediately, Tymas backed up, Eliasi shaking her head.

"I'm not walking through this room to get to that. Not for anything."

"I'm with her."

"But-" Lazaro looked at one of the dolls, inching ever so closer to the edge of the shelf. "Yeah. Yeah you're right. Back up the stairs, now."

Eliasi and Tymas didn't need telling twice. They were up the stairs in a flash, Lazaro right behind them. When he'd cleared the way, Eliasi slammed the door shut, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

"Good idea Lazaro. _Let's search the house_."

"Well sorry," he grumbled, "I didn't know there were going to be killer dolls waiting for us."

"Bet mummy and daddy are pissed with us." Tymas joked. Outside in the garden they'd removed the two dolls that had been in the kitchen, waiting for them when they'd stepped in.

Eliasi shuddered.

"I'm going to sleep."

All three of them could agree on that. They swiftly moved upstairs, into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind them and barring it with a chair just in case.

"If I'm killed by a doll…" Tymas laughed, "what a way to go, huh?"

"They have to get in line."

"Bring it," he kicked her with his bare foot, lying on the bed, buried into the pillows.

"One of these days…"

It was now getting dark.

They'd survived one day. One day in the Games, however many to go.

_Bring on the rest._

* * *

><p><strong>Casimar Kaveli, 18 years old;<br>District Nine Male.**

* * *

><p>The first day was finally coming to an end. Each house had lights that automatically came on, brightening up the town from behind windows and doors.<p>

Casimar and Clarette were still walking, sticking to the sidewalks, looking at each house, but continuing on without stopping. Casimar thought better than to stop and ask why Clarette was acting so anxious.

Maybe if they kept walking, they wouldn't have to deal with how they really felt. Maybe Clarette just didn't want the chance to break down. It made sense. Casimar hadn't seen his younger ally show much of anything except the attitude that might put off anyone else, but kept him stuck to her side. She was just a teenage girl after all. He didn't know her life, what she'd been through, and it wasn't his place to judge her just because she seemed to judge everyone else.

Plus her spirit was what endeared him to stay with her. So he did just that, bringing up the rear of their advance into the night-time toy town, a few steps behind her, scoping out for something. Anything.

He was thankful they'd made it out of the bloodbath unscathed. Clarette had a machete. Casimar had a spear. They both had a backpack each with food and water to last a few days. Compared to some other alliances, surely they were doing well for themselves. He didn't want to lose himself to early Games confidence, but it was hard not to.

He was one of the older competitors here, with a capable ally, and enough to get him through. Why shouldn't he be confident? Clarette certainly seemed to be maintaining that strict cocky air to herself since they'd started walking.

He'd keep his guard up though. For anything and everything. He wasn't about to lose – no, no he'd promised his friends and family he'd come back. It was a promise he was planning on keeping.

"Sh," Clarette finally whispered something to him, raising a hand to stop his advance. He looked nervously at her, then into the air around him, a mix of dark and light. "Look."

They were in the middle of one of the roads, stuck in the open between a junction that went back round the Square of houses they were in, and then veered towards other branches of the Arena. Casimar followed her finger, pointing to a shadow protected by a house on the corner. He had to squint to see it, but when whatever it was took a step forwards, his heart froze. If he didn't care about how he was appearing to Clarette, himself, and the whole of Panem, he might have ran there and then, backwards, away… wherever _it _wasn't.

Looking at them, perfectly still, perfectly eerie, was a clown. In one hand, he held a bright, blood red balloon, the other behind his back. He tilted his head once, staring at them, calm as water, not moving an inch.

"What do we do?-"

"Hey," Clarette shouted, waving her machete in the air, "go piss off someone else!"

"I don't think you should provoke him."

"I know what I'm doing," Clarette snapped, facing the front again, glaring at it from afar.

Its other hand moved from behind its back. Clutched tight into its palm, as tight as it was holding the balloon string, it brought out a butcher's knife that caught the light of the house opposite.

Clarette turned to look at Casimar, her face considerably paler.

"Okay, maybe we should turn back."

When both of them looked up, however, it was gone. Nothing there but empty space against the house it had been standing by.

"I don't like this Arena," Casimar admitted.

Clarette nodded her head. "Me neither. Come on, let's settle in this house."

Why he was letting her take the lead in everything, he still had no idea, but Casimar wasn't about to refuse her or fight back. If anything, his eyes continually scanned the area where the clown had been, but nothing was there. If it was a trick of the Gamemakers, hopefully it was over.

But, if not…

He gulped, refusing to get into that yet. It was the first day. They'd survived the bloodbath. The rest could come later, the horror, whatever was in store, he had a night's sleep ahead of him first.

Once inside the house, Clarette kicked over one of the dolls in the hallway, laughing to herself as its head popped off. They both went into the living room, staring once out the curtains, before Clarette pulled them shut and closed the door.

"Are you an idiot?"

_W-What…?_

"Are you an idiot?" Clarette repeated, glaring at Casimar.

"I didn't do anything."

"No you didn't. But they are." She gestured towards the window. "How haven't you seen them? Or even heard them?"

"I don't understand," Casimar sat down in one of the armchairs, strong, sturdy plastic, but with a comfortable overall that would help him sleep.

Clarette, however, didn't seem like she wanted any sleep.

"Your cute little District partner and her ally are following us. They have been for a few hours now."

"No they haven't," Casimar said, looking towards the window. _I would have seen them… like Clarette had._

"Tomorrow, we confront them. I don't want them getting in our way any longer. It's why we kept walking. I was hoping they'd give up and go wherever else they wanted to stick their noses in."

"We're not fighting Noelani and Chase."

"Yes we are."

"No," Casimar stood up, towering over Clarette, "we are not."

They both held each other's gaze, neither backing down. Clarette didn't seem to care he was much taller, much broader, much stronger than she was. In fact, if anything, Casimar was the one who felt intimidated. She dropped her machete onto the ground and shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Fine, but if they give me one reason to," she kicked her discarded weapon, lying there on the carpet, "I'm using that. This is the Hunger Games. Whether she's your District partner or not, if they try to hurt us, they die."

"They… die." Casimar nodded his agreement, sitting back down as Clarette turned away.

_They die? _He knew he was prepared to do a lot of things in this Arena, but kill Noelani? Maybe they were just following them because they wanted to propose a larger alliance. Or maybe Clarette was being an idiot and they weren't following at all.

Clarette could do what she liked, Casimar was not going to fight Noelani. Not until it was absolutely necessary. Not until it was him or her. She would never hurt him, so he would never hurt her.

With that final thought, the Capitol anthem announced the first day had come to an end. Clarette stood up and pulled back the curtains, Casimar staying in his chair, looking at her as she watched the night sky.

When it finally ended, Clarette turned to face him, stunned. He looked at her face, slowly going from the same pallid shade, to a smile, growing and growing into her cheeks.

"Three…" she muttered in disbelief.

"Three?"

Clarette walked up to him and then, completely out of character, jumped in the air and laughed out loud. "Three! Three Careers are dead. Casimar, can you believe that? Three on the first day."

He stared at her.

Like he'd doubted her plenty today, he doubted her again. But she couldn't be wrong. The Capitol certainly wouldn't be wrong about that. "Three Careers…"

It didn't happen.

It never happened.

He started laughing with her. A small part of him felt guilty that they were cheering over the death of teenagers, but these were teenagers who trained to kill people who had no choice in their fate, people who nearly always won.

With three gone, they stood a chance. A better chance.

"One of us could win…" Clarette hugged him. Tomorrow she'd act like that hadn't happened. Act cool again. Act like she always acted.

But right now, the two of them were happy. The Arena, the clown, Noelani and Chase, it all disappeared from Casimar's mind as they both drifted off towards sleep.

Tomorrow they'd station a guard, rotate between one another, but tonight they simply slept.

_Three Careers…_

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe he really could do this.

Maybe he could win.

* * *

><p><strong>And that's the first day!<strong>

**So, to give a little insight, the Arena is sort of a mixture between the toys children play with and the nightmares they have. So for example, the clown in this one, the mysterious room from the last chapter, the baby dolls with Tymas/Eliasi/Lazaro. It's a blend between innocent dollhouses and the darker stuff that children fear. More to be revealed soon!**

**Also, I think according to my plan, this marks the end of the no death chapters. I don't like to have too many of them, so two seemed a fair amount. Next chapter, we start saying goodbye to some more tributes! ;)**


	21. Lay Down

**Chapter Twenty-One.**

* * *

><p><strong>Day Two.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Henry Eris, 16 years old;<br>District Two Male.**

* * *

><p>He wanted to get going.<p>

Henry sat impatiently round the kitchen table, tapping his foot against the floor, his knife against the edge of his chair, with his eyes moving between Rhaella and Saira.

She had her own cast over the garden, a sad look on her face that made Henry upset himself. Not only were the tributes getting away from him the more he sat down, he felt like Saira was too. _Does she hate me for killing Rayah and Tristian?_

He hoped not, he really did. One thing he was glad about was saving Rhaella. Or at least keeping her for a later thrill. Not that he enjoyed what she'd been like in the Capitol, but now without Tristian to keep her down, she seemed a lot more free-spirited. She smiled at his jokes. Laughed with Saira. More importantly, she seemed just as on edge to get out the house as well.

He didn't want to upset Saira anymore than she looked, he could see that whenever she turned, her smiles turned to frowns. But if two of their alliance wanted to move, maybe that meant they would.

Maybe she'd take the majority vote.

"You want to leave the Cornucopia?"

"It's not much of a Cornucopia," Henry smiled, looking at Saira, then at Rhaella. "I mean it is, but it isn't."

"It has enough supplies to last us."

"Take whatever we can carry with us. Come on Saira," he leant forwards, clasping his hands together, the knife slipping through his fingers. "Please?"

"What do you want to do, Rhaella?"

Henry knew he could count on her backing – probably the first time since meeting her he could believe such a thing. Maybe she had different reasons for wanting to leave the house, not everyone shared his enthusiasm, but a girl wanting to leave was still a girl that wanted to get moving. What her reasons were for doing so didn't bother Henry.

He had his knife, still coloured with Rayah's blood. _Now all it needs is a new coat of paint. _Henry snickered to himself. Rhaella, before speaking, looked at him and laughed herself.

He liked to hear them laughing.

It was better than them being against him.

If Saira turned on him… _no, no she won't. She likes me, like I like her. _And Rhaella, well, Henry hoped she'd stick by him if it came down to it. She had to. He was her best bet of making it far – if she didn't like killing, all she had to do was step back and let him do it. He was more than willing to take out the whole of this Arena if he had to. _And boy do I want to._

"I think leaving makes more of an impact on us as an alliance. We're not really providing anything if we don't do something."

"Yeah," Saira chewed on her bottom lip, nodding her head. "Yeah okay, you're both right. I'm just worried for our safety."

"We're professionals Saira, believe you me, we know what we're doing. You're probably a lot tougher than you think you are."

"Tougher than you." Rhaella said, laughing.

"I doubt it."

Usually he might have taken that as a blow to his confidence, but Henry was learning how to deal with these two girls better than he might have done earlier. He was committed to Saira because he knew she had to feel the same way, deep down, she had to. And Rhaella was a fun person when you took away the slut and put in a nice, friendly teenage girl in its place.

"We have to stick together. That's something we all have to promise, we can't risk a chance of getting ourselves into a situation where we can't rely on the other person."

She was still smiling as she spoke, making light of it, but Henry knew she was serious. Not just serious in a leader-like fashion, but serious in a depressed manner. Like she was keeping things to herself.

He wished she trusted him more to open up a little. Though she smiled and laughed with him, he felt like he didn't know her properly.

Not everything.

And he wanted that, bizarrely, for a Career in the Hunger Games. He'd never really had many friends. Saira meant a great deal to him.

"Come on _mother,_" Rhaella smiled at Saira, leading the way out of the house. Henry eagerly snatched up his knife again and tailed behind her, jogging out the front door and down the pathway. Halfway to the picket fence, however, his face met Rhaella's back.

"The fuck you stopping for?" He rubbed his nose, frowning. But then, once his eyes caught sight of what was really going on around her, he saw the answer to his question.

In the house opposite, one of the dolls was half in and half out of sight, tilting with its head round one of the curtains. But that wasn't the creepiest thing. They'd moved, some of them.

A few were on the streets, still as a statue. On a bench in the centre of this part of the Arena, next to the tree, two sat next to each other, smiling out at Henry and Rhaella.

Saira joined them, staring out with a frown. "Shit."

"I think we should stay away from them," Rhaella said, cheer gone from her face.

"That might be a bit difficult if they move every time we aren't looking." Henry walked up to one and kicked it to the ground, its head bouncing off. "We go to sleep for one night and they're already starting to move out from the houses."

"Whatever," Saira snapped out of her trance and led the way down the right hand side of their particular road. "If we're going to start hunting tributes, we need a plan. We spend the day going between the streets and houses, it'll be tedious but if we look through each house we'll find someone eventually. Then at night we settle down in one and wait for the next day."

"I just want to find a tribute," Henry said to himself mainly, too entranced by the dolls to really pay much attention.

Saira and Rhaella sent him a look but said nothing, moving on with him trailing behind them, knife in one hand, backpack over his shoulder, ready and waiting.

The excitement was all too real. He'd felt exhilarated during the bloodbath, in the same way he had in Two, waiting for his chance to be a tribute. Now that he had the opportunity to be with two people he was willing to look after – one more than the other – it couldn't really get any worse than this.

Saira was the leader they needed: smart, level-headed, but friendly.

Rhaella was getting her act together and providing something he didn't think she'd ever provide for him.

And Henry, _well I'm ready to kill, have some fun, and spend my time doing what I trained to do. _No one could fault him for living up to what his whole life had been about.

The Hunger Games were once his future.

Now they were his present.

And he was going to make the most of his time here, however long he had in the Arena. He refused to die, or win, before doing what he came here to do.

"Keep up," Saira said, over her shoulder.

"Will do."

The tributes were waiting.

Now it was time to find them.

His very own game of hide and seek.

* * *

><p><strong>Holly Branwell, 17 years old;<br>District Six Female.**

* * *

><p>They were still searching.<p>

If she was taking this too far, Holly was way past convincing herself out of it. Blaine had to die. Not because she necessarily wanted him to, but because now it was expected of her. The Capitol had their rivalry, they had their upcoming encounter, they had Holly playing a perfect role, and they needed a body to come out of it.

Blaine had to die. Holly didn't want to hurt him in the way she'd played it up – there was no fun in doing bad things for the sake of causing pain. Maybe in Six it had been, but there was a difference between girl fights and this: murdering her District partner.

The Capitol would raise their support in her if she played a convincing good girl who was really bad. And she was a bad girl. Not this extreme, but now they had their villain. It was a role she'd take gladly. If it meant she could win, then so be it.

He would die. She'd give them what they wanted.

Therese craned her neck round the side of yet another house, before turning and waving Sherina over. The two girls met with Holly in the centre of the road, her willing ally shaking her head sadly, the other girl – the girl that was making this so much harder – mumbling something to herself.

That was a problem she'd have to address sooner rather than later. Before it got out of hand. It wasn't the first time she'd come across a girl a little bit smarter than Holly needed in a close acquaintance. Right now she needed her for her own support, for Therese's own backing, and Blaine's inevitable death.

But soon… real soon…

Sherina would learn.

"I can't find him anywhere," Therese said, almost apologetically.

"If we can't find him we have to leave it. He could be anywhere now, he'd have slipped past whilst we were sleeping." Sherina said.

Holly turned to both of her allies, injecting herself with the same fear she'd demonstrated yesterday. Shaking her head, widening her eyes, she nearly physically begged them. "I don't feel safe… he's had it out for me ever since we met. I didn't do anything. He's just jealous because I have an alliance and he couldn't get one himself." Holly stopped herself, letting her voice crack with fear. "I can't feel safe until… until…"

"Until we kill him." Therese nodded, sadly. They each had a knife, effective enough against a boy without anything. Or, at least Holly presumed he had nothing. She hadn't seen him with a weapon yesterday. _Good. If he puts up a fight, I'd rather not get stabbed for it._

"We don't need to kill him. He's just a boy."

"And we're just girls. Stop it Sherina. He's a threat."

Holly thanked Therese, wiping her teary eyes. "I don't want to… but… but he has to die. For the sake of ourselves. We're a team."

"A team," Therese patted Holly on the shoulder, smiling at her.

"A team." Sherina's voice was as unsympathetic as it had always been. Therese shot her a look. Holly did her best to stop herself from doing the same. Instead she only smiled at her other ally, turning around with her knife held out, ready for the inevitable.

They continued down the road they'd been searching, going in-between the houses, checking round the back and then canvasing through the downstairs and upstairs of each building in turn. It was hard work, but Holly was committed to it.

Getting a kill. Playing her allies for fools. It was all lending itself to a future she was determined to hold onto. A future that meant she could live, and they couldn't.

She liked Therese. Respected Sherina. But they had to die – it'd be hard without company, but eventually, when the time was right, Holly would just have to adapt on her own. It was a price she was more than willing to pay, after getting blood on her hands.

"Do you see that?"

Holly paused, looking over at Therese who was standing outside one of the houses. A curtain flickered shut. _It's him! _She contained herself, acting up the fear, walking slowly up to Therese and Sherina's side.

"What?"

"He's in there," Sherina gestured to the house. "So, are we going in?"

Before any of them could formulate a plan, Blaine in all his terror, shot right out of the front door. He tried to turn from their grasp, hightailing it down the way they'd come searching, but Therese was quick. And blinded, stuck to her loyalty for an alliance that was false, she wouldn't let him get away.

She tackled him into the fence, knocking it over, the two barrelling into the grass. Blaine kneed upwards into her stomach, Therese grunting out loud sent a fist into his nose.

At the sound of a sharp crack, a pained yelp, Holly stepped forwards. Sherina would just watch, pained because she knew the truth. Therese couldn't die – not yet. If Blaine got the upper hand, it'd be devastating to the temporary alliance she needed.

Not only that, but devastating to her image. Blaine was her kill. She had to prove herself to Therese and the whole of Panem, watching their future Victor come to life on screen.

"Blaine," Holly pulled him up with the help of Therese. He thrashed and squirmed in their grip, eyeing the knives with terror. "Blaine!" Holly let her voice quiver again, slapping him round the cheek, before shrieking herself.

"I don't want to-"

"She's playing you!" He yelled, ignoring her, staring at Therese. The girl from Eleven only glared back, shaking her head, refusing to believe. "Don't let her kill you. Don't let her kill me. Please!"

"I'm sorry Blaine," Holly raised her other hand, knife poised out, ready to take a life. She honestly didn't want to. Not kill. Murder was something else entirely to a game she'd played in high school. A game of cat fights and bitch slaps was one thing… but this…

Her apology was true. The most honest thing she'd demonstrated since being here.

"I'm sorry."

The knife went into his chest, piercing his heart cleanly and quickly.

Sherina had turned away, facing the opposite house. Therese let his body drop, Holly placing it gently on the grass, watching the life fade from his darkened eyes as the cannon shook the Arena.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Therese looked down at her, Holly looked up. Tears brightened her eyes. Were they real? She didn't know.

She knew one thing – Blaine was a cocky, deluded idiot. But a kid. A mere child. He didn't deserve death. But Holly was playing the Hunger Games the way they had to be played. A way that meant she would win.

If it made her a horrible person, so be it.

"Come on," Holly led the alliance back down the way they'd come, to the shelter they'd made in one of the gardens. "I can't stay here."

"We're with you Holly," Therese said, smiling at her.

"Yeah." Sherina brought up the rear. "We're with you."

_No you're not. _She kept it all to herself. Blaine had now died. Sherina would have to be next. Not for a while – not until the right moment presented itself, before it became too late.

She hated what she'd done to Blaine, but that was the way of the Games.

She was a murderer.

One kill of many, if it all went right. If it played out the way she'd planned.

One down, however many to go.

_I'm ready._

Ready for whatever she had to do.

Anything to make it another day.

Everything to win.

* * *

><p><strong>Noelani Lenoire, 17 years old;<br>District Nine Female.**

* * *

><p>"We have to, Noelani."<p>

Chase looked at his ally. Noelani was bent down on one of the balconies, peering between the gaps in the barrier. "But they haven't done anything to us," she said.

_That's not how it works. _She tried so hard to convince herself to actually stop walking, to actually back up what she had to say with her actions, but nothing worked.

"You and I both know it's the only way we're going to make it past the next few days. We have no food."

Her stomach made a noise. "Yeah." Noelani stood up and walked back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at Chase. She knew he didn't want to do this as much as she didn't. But just as much as they didn't want to, they knew they had to. Otherwise he was right. They weren't making it out of this alive.

_Not that we both are anyway. _She kept her eyes on Chase as he walked over, sitting next to her, smiling. _I don't want him to die… but I don't want to die either…_

"There are other tributes. Other places. Why… him…?" _Casimar. _They were doing well, him and his ally, with weapons and supplies. Everything Noelani and Chase didn't have. The sane part of her felt jealous at that, because here that sort of feeling was rational, the thirst for survival despite how guilty it made her feel.

Chase felt it too, Noelani could tell. They were both just as scared as each other. That's why they were waiting until the right time, waiting until both were incapable of fighting back because of their weapons, and Chase and Noelani's lack of such a defence.

"We'd both feel bad no matter who it was. He has what we need," Chase went to touch her on the shoulder, then faltered, bringing his hand back to his lap. She'd laugh at that, if the situation weren't so depressing. If the light she'd felt when first meeting him, first walking with him, hadn't been snatched from her as quick as it had arrived.

Chase had been someone Noelani could not only depend on, but befriend. He had his insecurities, she had her own. They'd help each other by not just being there physically, but emotionally and mentally. Now his very choice in action was damaging everything she was trying so hard to keep together from the start.

"It's getting dark. We shouldn't stay here too long, we might lose sight of them."

She laughed for the first time, a quiet, distant laugh, but something at least. "They've been staying in that house for a whole day now. They go out, look around, then go back in. They feel safe there."

"I want to feel safe," Chase said, frowning. "But I won't feel safe until we have a weapon. Have food. Have something. Noelani, you have to understand that."

"I do." She looked away, her eyes falling to the carpet. "It doesn't make it any easier though. We're not trained for this. This isn't who we are."

"It's who we have to be."

"Yeah." Noelani stood up, walking over to sit in a lone chair, overlooking the window, providing a view of the night sky peppered with bright stars. The shadow of the lid was present as always, but it was still as beautiful as ever. Only two days in and yet it felt like they'd been here a week or more. Walking. Living. _Barely surviving._

"Here," Chase walked over to her. She saw the last bit of water left in the only bottle they'd had to share since the bloodbath. He smiled at her and shook his hand. Noelani hesitated, stretching out her own, then pulling it back in, smiling.

"No. You have it."

"I just had some. Finish it off." He shook his hand again. "We'll have some more soon."

"Oh." She took the water, letting the last drop fall on her tongue, swirling it round her mouth before swallowing it. "I guess we will."

"We'll leave soon, move a bit closer, scope out the place they're in."

"Yeah."

"And then when it's ready, we'll go in and get out as quick as possible."

"Yeah."

"Noelani." He clicked his fingers in front of her eyes. She couldn't help but trail off, thinking, losing herself to her thoughts. If she felt this bad over having to steal supplies, what would it feel like killing? She had been so ready – she still was so ready – to survive no matter the cost, going against everything she'd relied on growing up in a country that tried to stamp out people like her. She'd been ready to win. Even at the cost of Chase, when it was necessary.

Now she couldn't even take a second without feeling like the gravity of her real life situation was ruining every shred of a chance she'd have at actually making it all the way.

There was only one clear thing to do. Only one way of getting herself ready for when things became really hard, when she was really about to come to terms with who she had to become. This was it. Surviving at the cost of another person, no matter who it was. _Casimar or not, they're supplies and we're hungry. _

She stood up and paced around the room, before sitting back on the edge of the bed again. Chase was good with silence, like she was. Not once did he question her, or even vocalize his thoughts until he knew she looked ready.

He sat back down, scooting over a little, his knee barely brushing hers. "We can do it, Chase. Tonight maybe. Or tomorrow. But it has to be soon."

"You're really sure you want to do this?"

"Do I need to convince you now?" She laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. He smiled back at her and pulled the empty backpack over his arm, looking at it sadly.

"It'll be full soon. Then we'll have a real shot." Noelani said.

"I'm not going in there thinking to hurt them. We get what we need and go. I'm not ready for… for that just yet."

"I know," Noelani readied herself to move on, standing up, heading for the door. "But sooner or later we will. If it's Casimar, Lexine, you… me… it'll happen eventually. The others are just… there. They have to mean nothing."

Every word she said was like a knife to the gut, stripping away her sense of identity, ruining her set of morals, everything she'd been proud of despite how hollow she'd felt in life. So much went on, and yet so little had mattered.

It was a hard combination of emotions. Maybe this was easier. Simpler. Things didn't need to be explained, or questioned, or examined. Steal to survive. Kill to survive. Or lose and die.

That was that.

"I don't want to make you upset." Chase followed Noelani down the stairs, out of the door, embracing the chill in the night air and walking towards the house they were based in.

"I know. Neither do I. This should make us happy, though. Give us something."

"Yeah, yeah it will."

_I'm doing this for us._

_For him._

_For me._

But at the end of it all, no matter how she felt, it had to come down to her. Guilt or no guilt, maybe those sorts of reactions would keep her sane. Because it meant she wasn't losing her humanity as she did things that tried to take it from her.

_I'm sorry Casimar._

They moved forwards.

District partner or not, she was ready.

* * *

><p><strong>Clarette Aamira, 16 years old;<br>District Ten Female.**

* * *

><p>Apart from the one cannon, the various dolls that had moved out of the houses, and Casimar's unwillingness to accept the truth about his District partner, Clarette had found the second day rather peaceful.<p>

Tonight, that would change. She wasn't particularly looking for a fight. If anything, lounging around inside a dollhouse, kicking her feet up and arguing with a boy who looked terrified at winding her up provided enough entertainment as it was.

But that changed nothing about what was happening, who was following them, and the consequences Clarette was willing to dish out. Maybe they were just doing their bit to survive, she understood that, people made their ways through life, fighting, surviving, doing whatever they had to do.

This was her way of surviving, by stopping it before it got out of hand, before her life was put at risk.

_And Casimar's. _She neglected to remind herself of that. Casimar was a good… ally. A good ally, but troubled enough as it was. If Clarette did this, maybe it would put an end to their alliance, maybe he'd want nothing to do with her, maybe he'd even try to kill her.

_So be it, _Clarette frowned, looking over at him, shadowed in an armchair, eyes shut. _Allies, not friends. _He wasn't proving the best ally anyway, when she thought about it. Perhaps he was a good friend, a great friend, if the situation was different. But friends wouldn't win her the Hunger Games.

Friends would get her killed. Proven by Casimar's connection to Noelani. They were more trouble than they were worth.

It was Clarette's turn to go on guard. She'd opened the curtains, left the front door and the living room door wide open. If they were smart enough, they wouldn't even try it. But if they were desperate enough, it should work. She sat, slumped in front of the window, head in her hands, staring. With a yawn, Clarette stretched out her arms and positioned herself comfortably.

Casimar was asleep.

She'd look like she was asleep.

And then, finally, they'd think it was the right time.

She had to hand it to them, especially Noelani who she'd always deemed a little bit of a wallflower, it was a good plan. Stealing supplies. It was something she might have thought up of because she knew it was the right thing to do, but Noelani's sense of right was probably a lot different to Clarette's.

They were prepared to take the very thing Clarette, and Casimar, depended on to live. Casimar being Noelani's District partner, a boy determined to not let her get in harm's way, when she was turning that right back and throwing it in his face.

She was willing to kill him.

Clarette almost laughed, closing her eyes. It was rather funny in the worst possible way.

She played the waiting game, as much as she got antsy, sitting down, not being able to move a muscle, open her eyes, or do anything except wait for the right time. Hours, maybe only minutes, flew by and still Clarette just sat there patiently.

Casimar moved in his chair. Clarette sat as silently as she could. And then, after what seemed the whole night, she heard footsteps. Outside at first, then creeping inside. Someone whispered, someone shushed them, and then total silence encased the house as they moved into the very room Clarette and Casimar were asleep in.

Her machete was lying near her hand. Casimar's spear near his. He wouldn't use it, even if he had to. Clarette's fingers twitched when someone brushed up against her. A backpack strap brushed against her arm as it was lifted into the air, and then… then when she felt they were turning, her eyes snapped open and Clarette lunged at whoever it was.

A girl screamed. _Noelani, great. _Her machete slashed the air right in front of her face. She felt a knee catch her in the stomach, saw Chase rush towards them, and then Casimar, standing up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and then freezing at the sight before him.

"Clarette!" He started to move towards Clarette, but already Chase was on her, throwing a fist at her face. She ducked under it and brought her fist to Noelani's stomach, pushing her away onto the floor. Her moans roused Casimar from his stupor. Clarette looked at him stare down at Noelani in pain, then at his own ally trying to hold off Chase.

"Casimar…"

_Fuck him. _If he was a friend, he'd have helped her. If he was an ally, he'd have helped her. He didn't move for Clarette, he went straight for Noelani.

That was his mistake.

Chase saw him move for her, lying on the floor, trying to push her way onto her feet, and snatched the machete from Clarette's hands. _Maybe I should have held on more… _Clarette wasn't sure if she'd given it up willingly, or if what Casimar had done was effecting her more than she let on.

That didn't matter.

She had only a second to make up her mind of what she wanted to do. But it was a second too late.

Noelani cried out loud when the machete went through Casimar's neck, half severing his head. Clarette's eyes snapped shut, a noise leaving her lips, her stomach squirming like she was going to be sick.

The cannon that shook the house roused her back out of it. Chase was staring, horror-struck at what he'd done, and Noelani was trapped under Casimar's own weight, his lifeless body on top of her own as she stared, motionless at the ceiling.

She looked again at her ally. Again at the two in front of her. If she was going to make a move for it, it had to be now. Ignoring everything she might have felt for Casimar, she snatched up her backpack and dived over one of the chairs, grabbing Casimar's spear and running out the door.

She could have avenged him.

She could have tried to start a fight.

And then she could have died.

_He made his choice to protect her, _Clarette wiped tears from her eyes, furiously trying to hold them back. _I'm making mine to save myself. _

Allies, not friends.

Over just two days he'd become both. And then in just a matter of seconds, he'd traded it all for his own death. All she had now was herself, as she ran down one of the darkened streets, bowling over a doll that stared at her.

As much as she didn't want to cry, it happened anyway. _I didn't want this… _It had been her plan, her idea to get them to stop once and for all. Do something. She didn't want Casimar to die, as useless as he was becoming. She only wanted to win… she wanted her own life.

Her own chance at going back to Ten and actually making something of it, for once in her life, standing up in a different way and just… living.

Now, someone had died.

_But I'm alive. _She had to cling onto that. _I'm alive and I can still win._

Casimar might be dead.

But Clarette wasn't.

And it would stay that way.

It had to.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Blaine Carrigan, District Six Male.<strong>_

_**Casimar Kaveli, District Nine Male.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Bo, you know where Blaine was originally going to place, and though he didn't do much better, the fact he went through his own little bit of development was crucial to not only his arc, but Holly's and her allies. Thank you for submitting him to this story.<strong>

**Cloe, I know you didn't think Casimar was all that interesting, but to me, honestly his POVs were really good to get involved with. His desire to make it far which conflicted a lot with his morals, his complex relationship with Noelani, his alliance with Clarette, it was all a lot of fun to write. Thanks for giving me the chance to write him.**

* * *

><p><strong>And we're back to the deaths!<strong>

**Assume if a tribute doesn't appear, during that day they didn't do anything worth really mentioning. I can't fit everyone into a chapter, so ;/**

**But yeah, hope you enjoyed this. Like I said a while back when I was nearing 200, if I hit 300 reviews with this chapter, thanks so much! If not, I'm still grateful for the support. It means a lot!**


	22. Truth

**Chapter Twenty-Two.**

* * *

><p><strong>Day Three.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Lucian St. Laurent, 17 years old;<br>District Three Male.**

* * *

><p>It was the beginning of the third day. Though it felt no different to anything else, Lucian had been doing his best to keep track of everything.<p>

So far he'd worked out when most of the tributes moved. The Careers were hunting and went out for the whole day, scoping out the areas in-between each neighbourhood and inside each house. The girl from Ten was holed up in one of the houses and rarely left except for the mornings.

Each alliance had their way of going about the Arena, and Lucian was working it out. He was mapping out their movements. Maybe it wasn't the approach people wanted tributes to take to the Games – they preferred a headstrong, throw-yourself-in technique that usually led to a fight.

He was playing it smart.

He was playing it the way that would ensure he made it to the end.

Lucian pulled the backpack over his shoulder, taking a deep breath, inhaling the chilled morning air, and snuck round the right hand side of the house he'd been resting in. The sponsor gift he'd received earlier was clutched in one hand, a small but sturdy hammer.

It wasn't the most effective weapon unless up close, but it wasn't a weapon he'd been looking for. The rope traps were hidden under leaves he'd scattered around the place. Not too obvious, but ready and waiting.

If he wasn't meant to feel confident, he was way past that. Lucian looked out into the open road, where he could remember everything he'd laid down, and smirked to himself. Being by himself was the right choice after all – people were interesting enough, but they weren't worth his time. Company was effort. Company meant he had another mouth to feed, another body that would have gotten in the way.

Another head that didn't think like him. He was doing this to kill people. _Kill people. _It wasn't the way everyone was willing to go. Some would be stupid enough to believe they could get through this without having to do bad things.

Lucian hadn't exactly been the nicest, most moral person to begin with. This was just a step up – a step in the right direction.

With his hammer clutched in his hand, he moved for one of the dolls stationed to the right hand side of the central tree. It was even creepier up close – blonde plastic hair, a sharp nose, eyes that were blown wide with black, thick eyelashes. It was meant to be pretty. It wasn't. It was terrifying.

He picked it up and moved it for a pile of leaves near to one of the benches. He hadn't been ready to risk getting himself trapped just to test its effectiveness in case it was just that: too effective.

If anything, Lucian wasn't prepared to look like an idiot in front of the whole of Panem. His dignity meant too much to him. He needed their respect, he needed to know that he could function off of what people's impressions were of him.

If he messed it up by getting caught in a trap that he'd laid down, only for it to not be worth his time, everything he'd done since killing Chip would have been for naught. Learning the other alliances and their movements. Knowing where they preferred to camp out.

Knowledge was power in the Arena, and he had that power.

He wasn't about to lose it by coming across a fool.

Instead, Lucian placed the doll ever so gently into the loop of rope that was hidden under the leaves. The moment the plastic foot put pressure into what he'd laid down, it pulled taut round its ankle, bringing it down and slamming into the concrete. His eyes gazed over the bench where he'd tied the rope – it was now knotted round the doll, tight around its heel, keeping it trapped on the road.

He laughed to himself, putting the hammer away. All around the street where there weren't benches, he'd hidden away wooden pegs he'd fashioned from branches and hammered into the dirt to tie the rope round.

They were working. It was all falling into place.

He moved for another doll, closer to one of the houses, picking it up and moving it for one of the traps he was least confident about. It did the same thing, pulling off from the peg, tripping up the dummy. If it were a person, they'd try to squirm, but hopefully it was tight enough to give him the time to...

_Well, _he untied the doll, throwing it to the side of a building and setting his trap again, _when it's time for that, it's time. I'm ready._

The moment he settled the leaves back into position, he heard voices drift through the air. They weren't doing anything to keep themselves quiet, that was their own mistake. Not that he was ready to target whoever it was – not yet.

Instead, Lucian hid back round the edge of one of the houses, peering out into the stretch of road as Tymas, Eliasi and Lazaro walked side by side, talking to one another. They seemed rather happy. Too happy for Lucian's taste.

He'd had to put up with these tributes acting like everything was fun and games during the Capitol, maybe there he could excuse it because it was their last moment to actually be who they were. But here? _Idiots. _He watched them act without a care in the world, disappearing from sight as they veered into another neighbourhood of dollhouses.

They weren't his concern. Though they had the numbers, they weren't too much of a threat. Their attitude would get them killed sooner or later, and for Lucian, the sooner they did fall the better it would be for him.

The less tributes there were alive, the closer he was to winning.

And that's what it was all about, winning. He had the means to win. He had his own version of a weapon, littered around certain parts of the Arena. And he had his head – he had the information he knew, he had the extra bottles of water he'd managed to steal from the Cornucopia house.

Everything was working out the way he'd wanted it to from the very start.

_But if I kick it up a notch…? _He could still hear their voices ringing in his ears. A trio like them would be hard to take out by himself, but another trio he had in mind… maybe it'd be near impossible.

_Not impossible, just difficult. _If he wanted to make a statement to everyone, if he wanted to stand out, if he wanted to be their choice for Victor, this was something he was prepared to plan.

He'd take his time. He'd ensure everything would work out. Lucian looked out at the traps, at the dolls that he'd tested on, and knew soon enough it could work on other tributes.

It could work on… them.

_Killing the Careers… how hard can it be?_

He laughed to himself. Very hard. Maybe he'd die for it. But he had the upper hand. He had himself. He had his own sense of knowledge. He had the hidden advantage.

They played it their way.

He was going to play it his way.

And he'd come out on top.

It wasn't foolish arrogance, it was confidence in the truth. _I'm going to kill the Careers. _Not yet, but soon.

And then, then he'd be the Victor the Capitol would want.

Then it wouldn't be so difficult.

Then he would win. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

><p><strong>Saira Carinne, 18 years old;<br>District One Female.**

* * *

><p>Saira found herself gazing out into the open air, sighing to herself. Henry's voice caught her attention, as always on a high no one else felt in this Arena.<p>

Everyone was so caught up with their feelings, and he was there, almost like a child, enjoying himself. She turned to face him, bottling her true emotions inside and smiling at him, waving like a true friend.

"Rhaella's about to come out, we found a working tap so we filled the bottles."

"Good idea," Saira watched the girl from Four leave the house. They made eye contact. Without Henry looking, there was no light in her eyes, no smile on her lips, only an empty darkness that threatened to consume the alliance.

Saira understood though. She understood people's inner demons, how they had to be with other people, act the part, fit the role.

She was doing just that – had been all her life. When Henry caught sight of Rhaella, she transformed in a heartbeat, waving at him like she had just done, hurrying up to his side. They all refreshed themselves with a sip of water and resumed journeying down the road – hunting.

_Hunting, _Saira felt herself look at Henry again, she always did when she found herself questioning things. Questioning the way she was, the way she'd built up her life. _We're hunting them like animals. That's all they are to Henry. All they should be to me. _Saira swallowed the guilt down and resumed the leadership role that she'd taken without complaint.

If anything, they thought she had the clearest head, thought she knew exactly what she was doing. She did. Saira knew their roles within this alliance. Henry's… usefulness. It was bad, but Careers were bad people, she'd come to accept that of herself. No matter how much she tried to get into everyone's good books, she'd always be a Career. A girl who trained to kill. The girl who had killed two people already, and would do in the future.

It was a way of life. Her life. That's all it had to be.

"Alright, Henry take that house," Saira pointed to the dollhouse on the right. "Rhaella work your up to the end of the road and check both ways, just to be sure. I'll stay here and sort out the supplies we've found so far."

They took their orders. Saira wouldn't adjust – she probably never would – to how they so easily complied with what she had to say. The authority was something she'd never really wanted, but in a way, enjoyed.

At least she had a purpose, no matter how dark it might be.

Saira started to sort through her own backpack, sifting through the food they had, when she heard a gentle pinging in the air. Further on ahead, a parachute drifted down, landing in front of Rhaella's feet. For a brief moment, Saira almost called her out, asking what it was, but instead bottled it in and saw her slip the vial into her chest pocket.

The canister was discarded, the parachute thrown away, and Rhaella turned back.

_It was only a matter of time. _Saira looked back down and continued to sort through everything. She knew it was coming. Rhaella knew she knew it would eventually reach breaking point. And now her mentor had provided her a means to take action.

"Anything?" Saira asked. Rhaella only glared at her, shaking her head and waiting by her side for Henry to make his way back out.

Saira felt like she should say something, anything, absolutely anything to alleviate the tension. It was her own fault, of course. Rhaella had seen her way of survival and Henry had taken it. If anything, her anger at the one girl who'd saved him from death was as justified as Saira's need to keep him alive.

It didn't make it any easier, knowing someone hated her. She could deal with it, but as much as she'd done what she could for herself, she'd never done it because she disliked those around her.

"It's taking him a while."

"Uh-huh," Rhaella said, staring at the house.

"Do you see that?"

Saira had to lean forwards, but just as her eyes focused in on one of the windows, Henry's voice pierced through their patient silence. The very house he was searching started to crack, plastic chipping away from the roof, the ground itself upheaving the porch and shattering the balcony into jagged shards.

Henry toppled out through one of the windows, a doll on top of him. The moment Saira and Rhaella saw it, Henry easily threw it off, nothing but the same hunk of lifeless plastic they'd always been.

They were by his side in a flash.

Though Saira was repulsed by him, she was repulsed by herself just as much. She refused to act like she was anything special when she really wasn't. And Henry, in the most twisted way, was a friend. A good friend at that. Maybe one of the truest she'd ever had.

"Are you alright?"

"The house. The dolls… they just…"

Before their very eyes, the once still, silent, but pretty dollhouse crumbled apart completely. The dolls were squashed under the plastic debris, limbs sticking out, twisted and disjointed from the mess.

"I just… I pushed one of the dolls. Like I did before. But this time it's like they knew, and they didn't like it. Not just them but someone." Henry turned, visibly shaken. Saira knew Rhaella would feign shock, but would like this – seeing him weak for a change, seeing him break. "Someone else didn't like me messing with the dolls so they broke the house. They tried to hurt me."

"The Gamemakers, Henry. It's just part of the Arena. You know that."

Saira placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling comfortingly down at him. He looked into her eyes and straightened up, nodding his head, pulling away and facing the mess that could have taken his life.

"I did see something though. Something good." His ever famous smile was back on his face. Lighting up the fear and replacing it with the same joy Saira had seen in the bloodbath.

She knew what that meant.

Rhaella did too.

_This is where it all begins… where we play the part of Career. We live up to who we are._

"Behind this house, searching through one of the gardens. Two little girls. Come on!" Henry nearly took Saira's hand, thought better of it, and led the way. She called to him once, he didn't listen, then called to him again, and he stopped.

Looking a little annoyed, Saira smiled at him again, anything to appease his bloodlust. "We'll get them. You'll get them. But we should follow them for a bit, stay away and watch. Wait until the right moment."

"We're Careers. They're little girls. Why wait?"

_Because killing for me isn't as simple as it is for you. _"Because we don't want to run into a random situation. As easy as it might be, we're in the Games. Anything could happen."

"Like getting attacked by an angry kid who doesn't want you playing with her doll."

"Angry kid?" Henry scoffed. "Stupid Gamemaker more like."

"We'll wait, alright?"

"As long as I get them."

Saira nodded. "You can get them."

Henry led the way to where Rhaella had picked up her sponsor gift, looking left, then right, and heading the way the alliance was stationed.

"We shouldn't keep him around." Rhaella mumbled behind Saira's shoulder.

"You know we have to."

"Yeah," she swept past Saira, walking after Henry. "We'll see how long that lasts."

"We certainly will."

Saira followed after them, keeping to herself. It was better when she was alone. She could think more. Accept more. Act like this was alright, when it wasn't.

Rhaella was dangerous.

Henry was dangerous.

_But I can be too. _She had to be. Dangerous was a good thing. It would help her win. Help her move on, afterwards, live a life away from this horror once she'd lived it to the extreme.

If she had to kill innocent tributes, so be it.

If she had to kill her allies, so be it.

And if she lost herself along the way, so be it.

She was good at fixing things. Her fractured mind could be just another thing she'd have to piece back together. _After I win, I can make it work._

She would.

She had to.

To save herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Lexine Videl, 16 years old;<br>District Twelve Female.**

* * *

><p>She wasn't like Adley, never had been, never would be.<p>

One thing Lexine did know, though, about the Hunger Games, was that they weren't meant to be peaceful.

The first day had been difficult – the bloodbath, then the nursery they'd found. It had been hard to cope with. But now, standing over the kitchen counter, filling up her water bottle from a tap that actually worked, Lexine couldn't help but feel a state of calmness that shouldn't exist.

Adley was working on sorting through their supplies fairly in case they were ever split up. Lexine was more than happy for her to take the responsibility – they both knew who was the weaker link, and as much as it was upsetting, she could take it. If she was the one dragging down Adley, the less she got in the way, the better.

As she finished refilling the very last bottle, Lexine dragged her hand along the counter and smiled to herself. _It could last, this. Being together. Not forever, but long enough. _Her eyes drifted upwards, a happy, content smile on her face, for the first time since being here, calm, tranquil thoughts drifting through her head.

_What…?_

Then her eyes focused in on the window opposite. It looked right into the kitchen of the house that sat adjacent, only she couldn't see the kitchen.

She could see…

Her face went pale. Something acrid and painful worked its way up her throat. A tall shadowed figure stood, staring at her. She couldn't see everything, she couldn't even see its face except for hollow, shapeless eyes, chalky face and the long coat…

_Coat._

Her eyes found the claws, draped over the windowsill, and Lexine collapsed to the ground.

"Adley… Adley…" Her voice was faint, barely above a whisper. All she'd felt a mere second ago had gone, replaced with this. Terror. Dread. She started to whimper on the ground, pathetic, like a little baby. Only she didn't care, even when Adley ran in, helped her up and stared into her eyes, scared, worried. All she could do was mumble and point at the window.

"Lexine… there's nothing there."

"No." She shook her head, holding back her frightened tears. "No, no there is. It's the thing Adley. The thing from before. The room… the coat… the…" Lexine saw a clean, tidy kitchen meet her eyes when she stared out the window.

"We should get out this house. It's not doing us any good being in the same place for a long time."

Even if she wanted to disagree, Lexine couldn't. All her body could manage to do was follow little Adley out the door, down the pathway and onto the main road. Her ally tried to make conversation, but all Lexine could see was its face, its attire… the claws.

She'd cry if the last, tiny ounce of self-respect wasn't there, clinging itself to her only hope of being strong. She knew weakness was really the only thing she had inside, a weakness of not being the right kind of person she had to be in the Arena, but the self-respect was still present. The need to just be Lexine for as long as it could last.

They turned a corner.

Adley stopped.

Lexine cried out again. The dolls on this street were all toppled over, the same shredded marks that had been in the wallpaper torn into the plastic, cut up and left in ribbons all over the ground.

"It's playing with us…" Adley looked at Lexine, then her eyes gazed over her shoulder. When they widened with fear, she was almost, there and then, ready to give up.

But she couldn't. Adley grabbed hold of Lexine's hand and dragged her into the nearby house.

"What? What is it? Is it the thing… no… no…"

"The Careers."

It took those two words for Lexine to shut up. She looked at Adley, frantic with worry, and then at the house. They could hide. They could run.

They could… fight…

"Find somewhere. Split up and when it's safe to go, get out and run to the opposite house. We'll meet each other there." Before Lexine could get another word in, Adley was gone, into the kitchen and out of sight. Lexine looked around, her heart beating louder than she'd ever experienced, fear… so much fear. All she could see were dark spots pulsating amongst what was going on around her.

The voices drifted through the black shapes. Lexine swallowed down a sob and ran into the nearby cupboard. At that exact moment, a cheerful voice suffocated the thick dread she felt.

"I saw them run in here… Saira, come on. Rhaella, keep up!"

She knew who it was. That boy from Two. The weird one. The scary one.

Lexine did everything to stop herself from breathing too loud, stepping back into the rack of clothes that hung, blocking her from sight.

It had been only seconds, but it felt like long hours were being dragged out as the young Career made his way slowly into the corridor. Two sets of feet went up the stairs, leaving only one person outside.

Only one was enough.

One Career, trained for this.

_I don't have a chance._

She didn't.

Lexine screamed when the door was thrown open and hands grabbed her by the neck, throwing her out into the corridor. Her head collided with a photo frame and she sobbed out loud, falling to the ground, feeling blood trickle down her forehead and blind one of her eyes.

"Please… please…"

Lexine wasn't stupid.

She never had been.

Only different, different in a way she'd always wanted others to appreciate.

She knew this was it. But still, it didn't make the truth any easier. Nothing would. Nothing ever would.

Henry Eris pinned her down, straddling her chest, smirking down at her. "You're pretty. Maybe even… drop _dead _gorgeous." He winked, chuckling to himself.

Lexine squirmed a leg out, felt him put pressure into her knee, and bit her tongue to stop herself from making any noise. There wasn't any point.

It was over.

A girl from Twelve against a boy from Two. No hope. Nothing. This was it. _I'm nothing anymore…_

His knife went straight into her stomach, deep, but not deep enough to kill her instantly.

Agony burst through every vein she had, darkening her eyes, then brightened them again with pain that felt impossible. Footsteps were heard, then a voice, a distant chime in the air.

"Leave her Henry… it's done… you don't need to hurt her anymore."

"Oh," she felt him stand up, "okay, sorry. We can leave the other one. Let her deal with this!"

When they left, another set of footsteps echoed down the corridor, another pair of hands touching her shoulders. This time, Lexine didn't feel scared. It was almost peaceful. Calm like she'd always wanted. Where things just went hand in hand, where they made sense, where she could be happy.

Adley's face came into focus. Flushed red. Eyes blown wide, tears twinkling in her eyelashes, the first one splashing against Lexine's face.

"I don't know… Lexine…"

"It's alright," she could her own voice, broken with death creeping up on her. She tried to smile. It was working. "It's okay Adley."

"I don't know what to do."

"I do," Lexine reached for Adley's hand and held it tight in her own, squeezing it, clinging to it in her last few moments. "Hold my hand. Stay with me, until…"

"I don't want you to go. I don't-"

"It'll be alright." Lexine closed her eyes, taking one last, shaky breath. Everything started to cloud over. Everything started to come to an end. "It'll be…"

And that was it.

One last breath.

Adley staring at her ally.

Lexine Videl, still on the ground, dead… nothing.

The girl from Twelve was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Sherina Harney, 16 years old;<br>District Seven Female.**

* * *

><p>Lexine Videl.<p>

As her face faded into the black and blue of the night sky, Sherina turned around to face the garden they'd found refuge in. Therese was curled up in a ball near the back door, blissfully asleep. Holly was looking out through one of the picket fences, turned away from either of her allies, watching. No matter what, Sherina knew their ally from Six would put off sleep for as long she could.

They both knew where the deceit was, who could do what, who would do what, and neither of them wanted to be around the other. It was Therese that kept them together.

Holly needed both Sherina and Therese to keep her safe – Sherina found it almost funny, _almost _funny, that a girl like Holly had to admit to herself that she needed them for her own security. And then Sherina, watching her from afar, leaning against the plastic wall of the house, knew Therese's loyalty to Holly was the only thing keeping her from taking action.

It was.

It had been, at least.

_Not anymore, _Sherina kept her eyes firmly on Holly, silence thick in the air, as both girls refused to sleep in fear over what the other would do.

Sherina had always worried herself time and time again that she did overthink these things, that she did see threats in places where there weren't any. For once, she was in a place where it was good, almost healthy, to be as paranoid as you could be. If you saw a threat, it was most definitely a threat. Everyone was against her in the end.

The fact she didn't care about Holly helped fuel the truth she knew was inside of her.

And it's what would help her do this. Become someone she might not like, but someone that was necessary for her own survival. _And Therese's. _She had to care for her friend. In the end she couldn't blame Therese for how she saw Holly. They'd lost their light in the alliance. Therese didn't want to admit someone else needed to die, someone else they'd come to know.

Arial was dead.

And now Holly had to die too.

Sherina continued to watch her as time drifted by. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes for all she knew. The girl from Seven simply sat there, watching Holly stare out into the Arena. She was far too proud to turn around and meet Sherina's gaze. If it was Therese, she might. But not Sherina. Never Sherina.

When Holly's back began to loosen, when her head gently hit the picket fence, Sherina stood up as silently as she could. All this time of trying to be the right ally for her alliance was coming apart, because the time where all Sherina had done was try to please others was now gone. This wasn't about pleasing Holly, giving her what she wanted, or even Therese's blind loyalty. This was about doing what had to be done.

Holly was finally succumbing to her fatigue. Sherina held it back, smothering it under her resolve. The moment she reached Holly's back, the knife came out from under her sleeve.

_This has to be done… _Sherina closed her eyes once, settling her rattled breathing… _I'm not a bad person for doing this. I'm saving us. Me. Therese. _

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Holly's voice was barely above a whisper, but it broke apart the fractured state of determination Sherina had built up for herself. She wasn't a bad person. She wasn't a killer.

Holly turned to face her, not quite smiling, but not quite showing the fear you'd expect from someone who was a second from death.

"Leave. Just go. If you go, I won't have to-"

"You aren't killing me Sherina. I know you don't want to, you have to. Blah, blah, blah. We're tributes. We look out for ourselves." Holly made a hand movement, the sort a little child might make when something wasn't important to them. "The truth is, I do get that. I want to win. You are getting in the way of that, and Therese, well she doesn't see it the way you do. She's just a normal girl who lost someone she cared about and that's affected her more than she'd like to admit."

"You can still go," Sherina muttered. Despite the tension now gripping onto both of them, neither raised their voices, sticking to whispers to ensure Therese didn't wake up.

She shouldn't see this.

"I'm not a bad person Sherina. I'm not doing this because I enjoy hurting you, or Therese. I'm doing it because we all have to do what we can to win. The Careers have their training, I have this."

"Maybe I understand that, but it doesn't mean I don't have the right to protect myself either. Protect Therese."

"Here's the thing," Holly tapped Sherina on the shoulder, allowing a tiny flicker of a grin onto her face, before relaxing into a calm state of seriousness. "If you truly care about Therese, you won't do that again."

"Won't I?"

"If you try anything on me, anything like that, it won't be you I come after, it'll be her. The moment I think you're about to kill me, I won't hesitate from taking out Therese. She's useful, you both are, but useful can only go so far."

_Therese._

She looked over at the girl from Eleven. Did she really care so much for her that she'd jeopardize her own safety by pretending with Holly? By stopping herself from doing the right thing?

Sherina looked once more at the girl from Six. She'd seen what she'd done to her District partner. Nothing would hold her back from killing Therese if she felt like her state of control was slipping.

"What do you say?"

"I-"

Sherina's hands clenched into fists. She'd never wanted to care. Never had done. Therese at first had been a girl she'd wanted to care about but never had, because it was always difficult for Sherina to really fulfil everything she'd tried to be for other people. She could play nice, but she could never feel it.

Maybe it was better that way, maybe she didn't actually feel as connected to Therese as she hoped she would. As much as Sherina wanted to be the right person for Therese, she never would be. But something she could do, as she looked into Holly's eyes, was protect her for as long as she could.

It started from now.

She could at least try to be a good person for Therese, even if it would never be as true as it should have been.

"Alright. I won't... I'll stay with you, I won't try to harm you, I'll be the ally you expect from me. I'll…"

"Sherina," Holly placed a hand on her shoulder, nodding her head. "It's alright. Thank you, that's all I ask."

She went back to staring through the fence and into the Arena. Sherina turned around and walked slowly over to the house wall, sliding down and curling into a small bundle, resting her head in her knees.

_She won't harm us as long as she thinks we're doing the right thing by her. _Sherina stopped herself from crying. Stopped herself from admitting weakness to herself. This wasn't the right thing to do, but nothing here would ever be right.

As long as she was safe, as long as Therese was safe, then she could play the fool and be with Holly.

It wouldn't last.

Nothing ever did.

But it was enough for now.

If holding back would keep her alive, then so be it. Holly was her ally. Therese was her… friend.

She had to think like that.

_She's my friend…_

_My friend._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Lexine Videl, District Twelve Female.<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Knifey, Lexine… yeah to me, Lexine was one of my favourites. She had a distinctive, more innocent dream-like naïve voice that really stood out over some of the others. I mean, she wasn't designed for the Games, so an early death makes sense, but the times I had the chance to write her were great for me. I'll miss her a lot!<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Four to go until final ten. Who do you think won't make it?<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Another day, another tribute gone ;**

**Good to see most people are enjoying this so far, I know I am! Two months really since it was published and I've gotten this far. I'm planning on publishing the next story to continue my canon series when there are 3 or 4 chapters left of this, given how my update schedule has been, I'd say that should be around 2-3 weeks maybe. So if you're planning on submitting, there's a little expected publish date.**

**Until next time!**


	23. Ruin

**Chapter Twenty-Three.**

* * *

><p><strong>Day Four.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Lazaro Aden, 17 years old;<br>District Ten Male.**

* * *

><p>Lazaro felt uneasy.<p>

It was now the fourth day, ten tributes down, and their alliance had done nothing. They'd lost people to the bloodbath, but as sad as that had been, as sad as it still was, Eliasi, Tymas and himself had done nothing to mark their four days here.

Nothing except walk, scout out houses, and live.

He couldn't say they'd been surviving, because so far there'd been nothing to survive against. Anyone else might have felt happy with that, or in any other place, their sense of security would have been enough to erase such thoughts. Lazaro wasn't like that. He saw Tymas and Eliasi laughing together and felt his eyes drift across the room, looking out of the window to the open Arena.

He knew what was out there, yet in here it was as if they were the only three people in the Hunger Games. That this wasn't even the Games, it was just a lonely little island locked away from society. They weren't safe, and yet they acted like they were.

Nothing had happened and it made Lazaro angry. It made him feel guilty. _Why am I wishing for something to happen… shouldn't I savour this?_

He just couldn't. He'd always been a guy of action, the sort of person who did things because he wanted to feel like he was making his mark on whatever sort of life that waited for him in the future. He couldn't do anything here, because if he did something, he'd run the risk of hurting himself and his friends. And he was happy they were safe – but not happy that he could even comprehend such an ideal.

Safe didn't exist.

They were stuck in some trapped state of make belief where they pretended that they were alone and secure.

Lazaro was a good friend, prideful maybe, determined in a way to get this over with, but a good friend all the same. If they wanted to pretend, they could pretend. They'd seen Ramon and Jasper dead. They knew the dangers.

He was sure they were more self-aware than he was giving them credit for, so he tucked his thoughts away, and sat down round the table, smiling at his two allies.

"Eliasi had an idea."

"That's a first," Lazaro joked. He jumped up in his chair when Eliasi's foot connected with his shin. The three of them started to laugh, as always, enjoying each other's company.

"No but seriously, it's a good idea."

"Go on then, what's this good idea?"

_Does she want us to move? To fight? To kill? _Lazaro straightened his back awkwardly in his chair, setting his hands down on the table. Why was he seeking out something other than this? He didn't understand why he felt so uneasy when he had something not many tributes ever experienced in their time in the Arena.

This whole situation just felt wrong to him.

Like something was waiting round the corner, but they could never quite reach the point where they could see it. A secret hidden from them until it was too late. Until Lazaro could do nothing to protect the people he cared about.

"So, we've noticed how the dolls are moving around a lot."

"Creepy as fuck, yeah." Lazaro stopped himself from letting the others see his fear towards them. Together they understood, anyway, what the dolls were like. Now that they were out on the streets, appearing in different places every time no one was looking, it wasn't safe to be out there for very long.

Or if it was, it didn't feel like it.

"We know they're building up to something. So far they've done nothing really, but they will." Eliasi looked between the two of them as she spoke, eagerly going on and on. "I think if we stopped it before it reached that point, we'd be saving ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Stop how?" Lazaro asked, intrigued, leaning forwards in his seat.

"Burn the dolls. Stop them before they stop us."

He looked at Tymas, raising an eyebrow. His fellow ally already seemed hooked to the idea, clapping his hands together and leaning back in chair. He offered Lazaro a wink and a smile, then fell forwards and stood up.

"That's that then, come on, we've got some dolls to set fire to."

"And how are doing that?" Lazaro followed the two of them out through the kitchen, into the garden, and round to the front of the house.

"We've got matches."

"Will they even burn, though?"

Now that they were doing something, Lazaro felt a weird sense of drive kick-start into action. Like he now had a purpose, an idea that meant they didn't have to pretend any longer. They all saw a danger on these streets, and now they were thinking, putting their heads together, and preventing it before it could hurt them.

This was the sort of alliance he appreciated. People that did things, were determined to survive and stick together, no matter the cost.

"Only one way to find out. Eliasi be a dear and pick up that one over there." He pointed to a petite doll, female, that reached to about Lazaro's hip. Tymas pushed it over and went into his backpack, rummaging through his supplies until he brought out his box of matches.

He gave them a shake, looking at both Eliasi and Lazaro with the biggest grin on his face. The boy from Ten couldn't deny the way he felt towards them – the way he appreciated their own way of fighting through the fear of being in the Arena.

He did it by feeling like he had to do something.

They did it by being themselves and acting like nothing was happening.

How could he fault them for that?

The match was struck, a bright little flame burning from the tip of his fingers.

Tymas moved for the dummy, bent down to level himself with it, and extended his hand.

"Er Tymas…"

They only had to look up once. It was enough.

The flame went out the moment the lights did. Something in the sky, the shadow that darkened a portion of the Arena, showing where they were, closed on a hinge.

Someone had shut them in the box.

Someone was unhappy with them hurting their dolls.

He heard Tymas' uneasy voice, his hand graze across his face. Lazaro forced himself to think brightly, laughing when he heard Tymas trip over his own feet and land on the dummy.

"It'll be alright…"

A few seconds later, it seemed like Lazaro's hope wasn't misplaced.

The lid opened and light encased the Arena once again.

But they wouldn't have done that for no reason.

Someone had been angry, and now they'd made them pay the price.

"Eliasi?!" Tymas ran to where their ally had been standing, only now she was gone. Out of sight. Disappeared. Both of them went into the house, in case she'd stumbled in there, but as they expected, it was just the way they'd left it.

Tymas was panicking.

Lazaro was panicking.

His fellow ally from Eight tried to make light of it, smiling to himself, jumping from left foot to right. He stayed active, mumbling to himself, trying to figure out where or what could have happened.

"No cannon sounded," Lazaro said. _She's not dead at least._

_At least._

She could be going through a whole lot worse.

He ignored that. Thoughts like that wouldn't do either of them any good in trying to find her.

But the Gamemakers had taken it out on them, just as they tried to do something to save themselves. _Mess with the danger on the street, we'll hurt you. _It was a clear message.

From one minute of feeling like they were making progress, to losing someone that mattered a lot to the two of them.

_Screw the Capitol._

_Screw Panem._

_Screw these motherfucking dolls!_

Lazaro looked at Tymas, balled his hands into fists and kicked over a short lump of plastic nearby.

"Angry sex out of the question?"

Lazaro glared. Smiled. Then laughed.

"Shut up Tymas."

_I'll find. _

_We'll find her._

They had to.

They just had to.

* * *

><p><strong>Clarette Aamira, 16 years old;<br>District Ten Female.**

* * *

><p>She'd been thinking about him again.<p>

Casimar. It was always Casimar. The boy she'd met in the training room, the kind, dependable Casimar, to the boy that had had her own machete embedded into his neck. Dead Casimar.

_He didn't deserve that._

_But neither do I._

The moment his face came into her mind again, a nearby sound snapped her out of her state of grief. Stupid, pointless grief. Grief she didn't need or want, but grief that refused to go away. Maybe her _allies not friends_ mantra had fallen apart. Maybe she'd made a friend, a friend she'd never realised was a friend until he'd died.

_Shit._

Before she could continue to reminisce over him, Clarette sat upright, nursing a headache that hadn't left since that fateful evening. She swallowed a lump in her throat, stood up and looked into the dim room, light filtered through the curtains, leaving shadows dancing like warped creatures across the plastic furniture, taunting her but never quite reaching her.

It wasn't the imaginary demons that frightened her though. She could hear voices – real, human voices. If it was Noelani, or Chase especially, she had half a mind to throw her spear and take them both out. They had been doing what they had to do. And at the time, Clarette had hated Casimar. True hate for a boy that had left her side for a stupid, gentle, pushover. A typical nice girl – the girls that got into everyone's hearts.

Clarette hated her for that.

Clarette… envied her for that.

_Fuck it._

She took her spear in one hand, backpack over one shoulder and looked at the door she could escape from, or if it came down to it, the window she could throw herself through.

"Fill the bottles, Rhaella. I'll take upstairs. Henry downstairs."

If she had escape at the forefront of her mind, it was wiped clean. A state of paralysing fear, a real sense of fear the kids from outer Districts felt at the worst possible times, hit her square in the face. Clarette paled, her fingers trembling round the spear, looking at the door, opening her mouth, closing it and looking at the window.

She took one step, a small, shaky step. _No… I'm not weak. I'm not going to get killed by some creepy psychotic midget boy._

But that very same creepy psychotic midget boy opened the door to the room she was in. Clarette took one more step, and then their eyes met.

"Oh." Henry closed the door, tilting his head. "Hello there."

Clarette's lip trembled. He had a knife in his hand, a small knife, rusted with specks of red. Clarette took a large step this time, but Henry was fast, quicker than she had any hope of beating. He vaulted over a chair, pushed his hands and feet against a coffee table, and tackled Clarette to the ground, hooking an arm round her neck and bowling her over.

"I'm not… fucking… ARGH GET OFF ME!" Clarette shouted, elbowing upwards, right into his chin. He cursed, but her blow hadn't been strong enough to shake him off. If anything it only riled him up further.

Henry threw aside his knife. _What the…? _She had no time to think of his motivations to do such a thing. His hands were either side of her head, then moved to her shoulders. He laughed and threw a fist against her nose.

Clarette had fought through pain most of her life.

Mental and physical.

Drowning it with a bottle, or drowning it with swear words. Or sometimes sleeping to numb the pain.

This was real agony though. None of the pretend shit she thought she'd had to deal with. Her nose exploded, a tide of red flowing down from her nostrils and into her mouth, over her chin, staining her clothes.

Henry tucked his hands under her arms and hoisted her up, throwing her over the table.

_No… _Clarette tried to move, but fell backwards, too groggy to process much. _Please… _She didn't vocalize her need for mercy. Even in this state of fear, of understanding, of… longing, even with it all, she refused to do that.

It would only add to his twisted sense of self. It would feed his sadistic ego.

She saw rope being threaded over the light swaying in the air, then tied round her hands. It was simple but effective. In a matter of seconds, Clarette was left to swing like a pendulum, to and fro from the ceiling. Her spear, backpack and integrity were left in the blood on the carpet.

"Pretty."

"Fuck… you…"

His hand met Clarette's cheek. She spat blood in his face, ignoring the heat prickling across her cheek, a handprint now brightening up her skin.

The mark of his brutality slid down Henry's chin, landing at his feet.

"You're a fighter. I like a girl who fights."

"Let me down, I'll show you a girl who fights."

Henry slapped her again, then bent down to pick up his knife. Finally the door opened.

_Finally… they're still Careers. Finally shouldn't come into it. An idea of hope doesn't matter anymore…_

_I'm dead._

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_I don't want to die._

Clarette nearly, almost, right then and there, started to cry.

If it weren't for the shock on Saira's face, she might have. But it was almost compelling seeing a killer like her show something negative towards what Henry had just done to a girl she'd probably kill anyway. It didn't matter who, or how. They were still the same. Embodied an identity she, and everyone else, hated.

"Rhaella…" Saira looked into Henry's gleaming eyes, turning to face the blonde behind her. "I…"

"Saira. Don't." His voice was forceful. Strong.

"Let's go."

They closed the door, sealing Clarette's fate in one single on the spot decision to back away from the horror.

"Are you her little dog? Some pathetic pet?"

"Bite me."

Henry walked towards her, tilting his knife to one side, then to the next. Clarette used that one moment to swing forwards just a little, locking her teeth around the tip of Henry's nose, tearing off skin.

He yelped and threw himself back, away from his prisoner.

"You told me to bite you."

"Oh, you don't know how good this is going to feel," Henry took a step towards her. Before doing anything else, he tied up her feet as well, keeping in her position, rendering her immobile from swinging, or even shaking properly.

She was trapped.

Like she'd felt in Ten, the sort of lifestyle she'd rebelled against, it was literally happening to her here and now.

"Do your worst."

He laughed, cutting open her shoulder with one flick of his wrist. "How can I deny a pretty girl what she wants?" He smiled at her, showing a white, perfectly twisted grin. "You want my worst, here it comes. Enjoy pretty girl."

She was out in minutes.

Wishing for death.

Begging for it in her unconscious mind, red with agony, fire burning behind her eyes.

It wouldn't come.

He had reasons to keep her alive.

She'd stay alive, even when she didn't want to.

_Kill me…_

_Let me die._

* * *

><p><strong>Tymas Romain, 17 years old;<br>District Eight Male.**

* * *

><p>They'd worked it out a few hours later.<p>

Now it was about actually finding the house she was in – captured, or held against her will. Somehow in some way, maybe it was the dolls, Eliasi had been taken to the house they'd found near the beginning. With the basement, the baby dolls, and the chest at the end of the room.

They couldn't be sure.

But it made the most sense, so they had to try.

Tymas continued to mutter to himself, fearfully trying to cover up his anxiety with quiet jokes and pep talks that couldn't quite calm his nerves. Lazaro looked at him nervously as they continued to piece together their memory of where that exact house was.

It might take them all day, or the next day, or all this week, but neither of them were about to give up on finding Eliasi. They were friends and friends stuck together. That was something Tymas had always valued in himself – his ability to be loyal to other people, and in turn, feel their loyalty come back tenfold.

Lazaro kept his knife in his hand, ready for an attack. Tymas had his own strapped to a belt round his waist. Something about carrying a weapon made him feel even worse. He'd seen death already, seen someone he cared about die. He wasn't about to see himself exacting that same permanent darkness upon another person just as innocent as himself and Lazaro.

_Innocent in this context, anyway._

He smirked to himself. When thoughts like that came into his head, the idea of Eliasi, poor stubborn, hot-headed Eliasi being taken in a moment of darkness, crept away and was replaced with a normal state of calm. The sort of emotion he'd always felt back in Eight. When he could just do his own thing, without having to worry about dying, or killing, or fighting, or dolls.

_Dolls._

Of all the things that could have been attacking them, silently in the shadows, it had to be large plastic dolls. They were scary sure, but it was more funny than anything. Death by doll still made him want to laugh, if it wasn't such a possibility in his near future.

"I think it's here." Lazaro finally spoke up, stopping in front of a house that looked the same as every other. Tymas couldn't tell, but he trusted Lazaro with more than just his memory skills. If he thought it was this house, it was this house.

The two of them crept into the corridor, Lazaro's breathing calm and controlled, Tymas' frantic alongside his heavy heartbeat, thudding inside his chest.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. You're okay. We're all okay." He whispered to himself, humming a tune inside his head as Lazaro opened the basement door.

It was the house. The staircase looked as foreboding as it had those few short, sweet days ago. Hidden in the darkness, he could feel their cute, button eyes on him, waiting on the shelves.

This was their punishment. Having Eliasi taken from them wasn't enough, of course it had to include some kind of retribution. _Hurt my dolls, my dolls will hurt you. _He finally pulled out his knife, along with his flashlight, and shone a beam of yellow across the room.

Eliasi was tied up at the end of the corridor. She saw the two of them and her eyes immediately lit up with relief. Tymas would have ran there and then if he wasn't trying to keep a cool head and remain calm in these sorts of harrowing situations. Eliasi was shaking to be free. Tymas was shaking to do the freeing.

But first, the two of them looked at the baby dolls staring at them, and crept forwards. A few steps of peace were welcome, but the next step, made by Tymas' clumsy feet as he half tripped over himself, launched them into an attack.

He might have laughed if he saw this from an outside perspective, a lump of plastic shooting off from a shelf into someone's face. If there were strings, he might have thought it was a show. This was the Games, however, and these were real. He couldn't laugh. This wasn't a laughing matter.

He hit the first one away with the back of his hand. It shot forwards and disappeared into the darkness. If it planned on coming back, it didn't. But the others were frenzied and ready to do just as much damage. Lazaro plunged his knife into a plastic eye, pulling it out and tearing off the head of another nearby baby.

It was the weirdest thing Tymas had ever experienced in his life. A small, nervous smile made its way onto his own face as he tore apart one of the dolls, cutting it from shoulder to cute little plastic navel. He kicked the doll away. Both of them continued to make their way down the basement. One of them had its own miniature knife, no larger than a shard of glass, which tore into Lazaro's shoulder.

He didn't seem to even notice before ripping off its poor little evil head.

"Doing alright?"

"I never want kids." Lazaro threw himself into the shelf, knocking it over with his broad shoulders, the babies that hadn't moved all toppling out so he could stand on them.

Tymas skirted round his large, thrashing form and reached Eliasi's side.

"Have no fear fair maiden, Tymas Romain is here."

"Untie me you piece of shit."

"You'd make an awful fair maiden."

The two of them exchanged the same look they'd shared since they'd met. They loved to annoy one another – and even in this, a battle with psychotic plastic babies, they could still share a laugh.

Tymas untied her, looked once at the chest, then at Lazaro as he finished off the last doll.

"Mother. Fucking…" he spat something out, kicking it into the wall. "Dolls." He finished, wiping sweat from his brow, and walked up to the two of them.

"Ready to go?"

"Shouldn't we check the chest?" Tymas pointed at temptation sitting just a few feet behind them. Now that the room was clear, they saw no reason not to do so.

_Please be good. Please be good._

Lazaro threw it open, Eliasi and Tymas peering over his shoulder. Waiting for weapons. Food. Water. A way out of the Arena. Guns. Bombs. Love. Happiness. Whatever.

"Nothing."

Inside, reality came to smack them in the face.

"We're in the Games. Of course it's nothing." Tymas laughed angrily, kicking it away.

"Bastards." Eliasi grumbled and led the way back up the stairs.

Now that they were back together, the three of them quickly fell into their natural state of ease that carried its way through their alliance.

They opened the house door, stepped onto the street and began making it back the way they'd come to find Eliasi.

Today had been more eventful than they'd expected.

Dolls.

Baby dolls.

Eliasi.

The Gamemakers teasing them with false hope.

They turned a corner, made it halfway down a new stretch of road, and stopped.

_Eventful day huh? Well, fuck it._

Three girls met them, standing opposite Tymas, Lazaro and Eliasi.

Sherina. Holly. Therese

They looked at each other, only a few feet from their opposing alliance. The Games were, after all, tributes versus tributes.

Kids had to fight.

Kids had to die.

The dolls were just a distraction.

_Fuck._

* * *

><p><strong>Therese Chaney, 16 years old;<br>District Eleven Female.**

* * *

><p>"Well, we'll be off." The boy from Eight threw a finger over his shoulder, smiling. Therese looked past the three of them and shook her head, frowning.<p>

When the alliance in front of the three girls turned to see what was awaiting their retreat, they all turned back around and looked to one another.

Holly, Sherina and Therese did the same, twisting round to see the dolls that were forming a crowd behind them, in a row, like an audience, blocking their way back. More of the plastic creatures had left the houses to stand closer to the encounter. Therese exchanged a fearful look with Sherina, bowing her head. _This is it… _Therese had been waiting for a time to arrive where she'd have to prove herself in ways that exceeded just believing she could do it.

This was where she had to actually back those thoughts up.

Do something, rather than think something.

"I guess we… we don't have a choice." Tymas raised his hand, a small knife clutched between his fingers. He had more, threaded through a belt round his waist.

"What if we don't… you know, fight?" His District partner looked just as frightened, but just as ready if needs be, to do what had to be done. They were just like them, after all. Making it to Day Four by sticking to their friends after losing someone close to them.

It made Therese angry, knowing that in any other situation, any other place, any other time, maybe they could have been friends. Simply a big group of teenagers who could have gotten along, talking, enjoying themselves like people their age were supposed to do.

The sort of life Therese had maintained, despite what the world around her had expected from her.

Now, though, it was this. She had to fight and she had to kill the very same people she could see herself getting along with.

If she weren't preparing herself for what was about to happen, that very same thought might have been enough to crumble her entirely. But right now, her allies – her friends – depended on her.

Both Tymas and Lazaro shook their heads at what Eliasi had to say. Holly held onto her own knife, Sherina had hers, as did Therese.

No one had any fancy weaponry, any outside training. This was tributes that had no idea what they were doing, holding onto the only simple weapon they had found throughout their time in the Arena.

"If it means anything to you, we're sorry." Sherina said, smiling at them. Not a happy smile, but not a sad smile either. Somewhere in-between. A real smile, because she knew what was about to happen, but it didn't make it any easier.

Therese caught sight of Holly's pale face, only growing paler. Her eyes were widened with fear, frightened tears welling up. The second they started to move for one another, Therese joined Holly's side, leaning into her ear.

"It's alright. We protect our own. Me, Sherina and you. We're friends." She gave Holly's shoulder a comforting squeeze and turned back to face the advance.

Lazaro made the first move. Sherina parried his attack and the two of them went off, throwing fists and slashing the air around one another – committed to surviving, but not committed to killing.

Therese looked at Holly, nodded at her and threw herself at Tymas. The two of them met, bringing both knives up, then down and curving round one another to replace each other's starting position.

It was total silence save for harsh breathing, footsteps and the sound of death creeping up on the six of them. Therese pushed herself forwards and stabbed for Tymas' shoulder. It grazed the top of his skin, the boy from Eight hissing, but not before driving his own knife forwards, scraping across her side.

She continued to go on the offensive, hooking a fist towards his face, then bringing the knife in to offer support to her own attacks. Around her, she saw Sherina drawing Lazaro away from her, joining the fights, merging it into one large battle.

Holly avoided Eliasi, ducked under Tymas' attack, and nearly barrelled into Sherina.

Therese would have laughed if it were another time, another place. It wasn't, so she didn't. Instead she brought her knife in an arc to meet Tymas' and kicked swiftly upwards, landing a hit right between his legs. She winced, feeling for the boy as he yelped with pain, jumping back to avoid her knife and groaning.

If he weren't trying to survive, he might have crumpled over, but he didn't and continued to try to gain the upper hand on Therese.

She swerved round his next blow and moved back towards the other fights, hoping to cause a distraction. Only then and there, at that exact moment, something caught her eye rather than the other way round.

Eliasi had now gone after Holly.

Therese's instincts almost made her sprint after her friend, to help her. But before she could, she reached Sherina, who was holding her own against Lazaro. The two nodded at one another, Eliasi brought a knife down, and…

_Oh no…_

_No…_

_Not again._

Therese watched as Holly pushed Sherina into harm's way, saving herself, paying the price of her ally's life.

A cannon sounded the moment Eliasi's knife went through Sherina's neck. Blood spurted out. Her friend was gone in seconds.

Therese nearly fell over. She balanced herself, allowing the tears to fall from her eyes, down her cheeks and onto the concrete at her feet.

_Holly…_

She saw the girl from Six creep around the fights, staying away from the danger, only to leap in when she could. Eliasi was keeping up with her, Lazaro as well, but she was fast and tricky. _Maybe she always has been and I haven't seen it._

_Sherina…_

"I'm sorry."

Tymas bowed his head, looking at Sherina's body, then up into Therese's eyes.

"She meant a lot to you."

"I… I…" She didn't know what else to say. Instead of putting her grief into words, she launched herself at Tymas, bringing her knife into his arm. He wasn't expecting it, clearly, and for that she felt guilt the moment he shouted with pain. Her blade stuck out from his forearm, blood pulsing out from around the wound.

Therese pulled it back out and aimed for his neck, but he was quick and threw himself back, dodging her attack, only to call attention upon Lazaro sneaking up on Holly.

He stumbled into him, and at that moment, Holly gained the advantage.

Lazaro went down with a knife in his chest, his cannon shaking the Arena. A breathing, fighting, determined boy to dead in a mere second. Eliasi stopped advancing on the girl, her eyes stuck on her ally's crumpled form, staring at him with tearful eyes.

Tymas tripped and fell, crawling backwards on his elbows. Therese walked forwards. _Stop it. Step away. Don't do it._

He was bleeding. Dying, maybe.

Therese simply finished the job.

She slit his throat from left ear to right, holding back a scream when blood streamed out. She choked on it, crying as she fell over, curling up and letting the sorrow consume her.

Eliasi ran away, looking once at Holly and Therese, then at Tymas, Lazaro and Sherina, before sprinting into the distance.

The dolls had pulled apart to allow them free passage.

It was done, just like that. Minutes ago they'd been standing either side of each other, Therese thinking about how they could have been a group she'd have been friends with, and now one of her own, and two others, were dead.

_And I killed one._

"Are you alright?" Holly helped Therese up, her own eyes bright with fresh tears.

If she weren't so shocked, or if she didn't feel so… so empty, Therese would have driven her knife into Holly's eye. But she couldn't bring her hand up, she couldn't do anything but crumple forwards into Holly's arms and let her body shake with broken sobs.

_Holly killed Sherina._

_I killed Tymas._

Her friend had been right about their ally.

But what difference did it make – she was just as bad now, there was blood on her hands, blood that would never go away.

"I'm here, Therese." Holly stroked her hair, whispering words into Therese's ear. Words that were meant to comfort her. "I'll always be here."

Her knife fell from her bloody fingers.

She was done. For now. Or forever. Therese had no idea.

Sherina was dead.

Holly had shown her true self, thinking Therese was none the wiser.

And she'd killed someone.

This was who Therese had refused to become, but it was too late. The moment had arrived and she hadn't even fought against it. She was just another tribute, lost to the consequences of the Games. What they did to people, ordinary people like Therese.

_I'm dead, even though I'm alive._

Therese closed her eyes.

She was gone in seconds.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sherina Harney, District Seven Female.<strong>_

_**Lazaro Aden, District Ten Male.**_

_**Tymas Romain, District Eight Male.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Megan, Sherina, as always, was the sort of character you submit that I really get into. Only this time round, she sort of fell back a bit to lend development to her own alliance, and for that I apologise. Still, I enjoyed her for the time she was around. Thanks for sending such a great tribute in!<strong>

**Aspect, Lazaro was one of my favourites before the Capitol, but sadly he sort of died down a bit once everyone else got into their second POVs. Then, in this chapter, he came into his own again. Unfortunately, for me that was a bit late, and with this scene already planned out, I couldn't take him further. As always, though, thank you for submitting him.**

**Chaos, Tymas was a favourite for most of the readers, and one of my favourites. Likewise with Lazaro, I had this scene planned for a while, and I wanted to show how things can rapidly change. So he went from being the nice, normal guy for most of the chapter, to having his story cut short here. I'll miss him a lot, though. Things'll be different without him around. **

* * *

><p><strong>I apologize for this chapter, idk, I don't think it's completely up to scratch. One of the POVs I wrote at 4am, the other three I did with a really bad headache. So, eh, yeah I'm sorry.<strong>

**Maybe the fight was rushed? But fights are fast-paced, and in my eyes, three deaths one after the other without giving people much time to react makes a lot of sense. I feel like I have to point this out because the writing in that scene might not be up to par, so I wanted to sort of explain the situation instead.**

**Anyway, one more to go before the final ten are here. Let me know what you thought!**


	24. Lonely Child

**Chapter Twenty-Four.**

* * *

><p><strong>Day Five.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Rhaella Cresswell, 18 years old;<br>District Four Female.**

* * *

><p>They were woken by screaming.<p>

Rhaella had to force her lips shut, stopping herself from screaming back in frustration. Saira looked just as pale, a sickly shade of white, her arms by her sides as she stood up groggily to walk over to the kitchen sink and have some water.

All Rhaella could do was ignore the agonized wailing coming from down the corridor.

_I didn't sign up for this. I didn't come here to do… to do… to listen to this! _

The vial in her pocket felt heavy against her chest – as if it were calling to her. She'd had so many opportunities now to slip it into a bottle of water, or into someone's food, sprinkling death along stale bread. _Not that it'd ruin the taste. _She sighed to herself and dragged her hands through her scraggly, dirty blonde hair.

Maybe a week ago, if Rhaella looked in the mirror and saw what she had become, she'd have shattered the mirror and screamed just as loud as Henry's plaything. Now, though, whether she looked good, or looked hideous, there were so many more important things around her she had to focus on. Besides, she had no one she had to look good for.

Maybe Panem watching, but they weren't here, she couldn't flutter her eyelashes, flaunt herself, to get an advantage. That Rhaella was gone – all she had now was her desire to stick it out to the end, and use what was in her pocket when the time was right.

"Hard time sleeping?" Saira's voice sounded heavy, thick with guilt. Not that it was her fault Henry had turned out this way, but it was her fault in other ways. She could march in there and stop it, so could Rhaella, but neither did a thing. Because they were scared of Henry? Because they were scared of what they'd see?

Rhaella knew both answers were true.

As hard as it was to admit.

"If you can call an hour of listening to…" Rhaella shivered in her chair, bringing a bottle of water to her lips, drowning the lump in her throat with one clear sip. "We could leave." Rhaella looked at Saira, waiting for the shock to register, the fight, but it didn't. Saira looked tired, more than anything.

Tired and lost.

Rhaella pitied her. Rhaella hated her. Rhaella was just confused by her.

She wasn't a bad person, far from it. And yet she couldn't ignore what had happened, she couldn't swallow down her pride and move on, because it wasn't right. Not that she'd ever prided herself on doing the moral thing, but this had been something else.

Saira looked into Rhaella's eyes and tried to smile, only for it to fall back into a resigned frown.

"We're not leaving, Rhaella. We can't leave."

"Why?"

Saira sighed, nodding towards the corridor, where one room down a poor girl was getting tortured by Panem's biggest mistake. "When he's done, he'll come back to us, and the cycle will continue. He'll be there, by our sides, doing the things girls like us volunteered to do, but know we're not cut out for."

"He's a meat shield."

She flinched, but even Saira, smart, collected, people-person Saira, couldn't deny Henry's true purpose for being here. "Yes. He'll fight for us, so we don't have to. He'll risk his life, so we can keep ours. Is that so… wrong?"

"You know it's wrong."

The two girls smiled at one another. Though both knew nothing would ever be the same as it had been in the Capitol – where there'd been a faint glimmer of a friendship – it was enough right now.

"I think we're so far past wrong its wrong for us to even think of categorising our actions. We're just… surviving." Saira stood up and took out another bottle of water from her backpack, alongside a pouch of bread and cheese. "Planning on using it anytime soon?"

She should have been shocked.

But of course she wasn't – Saira knew, Saira had even admitted to Rhaella that her intentions were as clear as the blue sky. It was no secret to anyone but Henry. So why hide it?

"I'm waiting."

Saira nodded and moved for the door. "I don't blame you. Listening to that," she gestured down the corridor, "it's enough to make anyone hate him."

"Where are you going?"

She laughed and shook the food and drink in her hands. "Someone has to feed the beast. I don't want him dying on us."

"I don't want that girl dying on us."

"She'll die." Saira frowned. Rhaella only watched her, pitifully trying to keep together, when so much was against her, so much she couldn't control, knowing that she wished she could. Rhaella had control in her own way, by staying back, whilst Saira had to be at the forefront of everything, even when she'd mainly hidden in the shadows to begin with.

It was a sticky situation she'd gotten herself into.

Rhaella did pity her.

_But I have to hate her. I just have to._

"You shouldn't see it by yourself." Rhaella stood up to join Saira, moving towards her. Both girls exchanged a terrified look, their eyes moving for the door, hovering over it, soaking in the screams, and gazing back at the other person. "We know who our ally is. We need to see it."

"You don't have to. It won't be… pretty."

"Neither is cutting a thirteen year old boy's head off. Neither is stabbing your District partner in the back of his neck."

Saira winced, her eyes falling to her feet.

"I'm sorry but it's true. We're pretty girls, Saira. Out there," Rhaella waved a hand in the air, "but in here, nothing's meant to be pretty. Our desire to be a pretty girl has to go the moment the Games begin."

"Yeah," Saira started to walk, slowly, hesitantly, towards the dreaded room, "well, here we go."

Saira knocked once. Rhaella waited, biting her lip, behind her shoulder. When nothing happened, Saira did it again, then again a little louder, but still nothing. A smarter girl – or a weaker girl, maybe – would have turned then and there. Instead, Saira pushed on the door handle and made her way inside the room.

Rhaella had been expecting something, but not this.

Not this.

_Is it a good shock?_

_Should I be relieved?_

She'd expected a missing arm, a foot hanging off by a thread of skin, an eye gouged out. Instead, Clarette looked pretty put together, if it weren't for the dead look in her eyes, the tears in her outfit, the blood oozing out from the tiniest of stab wounds.

One of her fingers had the skin torn completely back. Rhaella gagged at the sight, looking up into the poor girl's eyes. He was tearing her apart one shred of skin after the other. It would take forever.

She had hope, at the moment.

There was a chance she could make it.

But it wouldn't last forever – the moment he became more confident, the moment he tried to do something bigger, Clarette was lost.

"We brought you some breakfast." Saira placed it down in the room and stepped back. Henry wiped his brow, gave the two his classic smirk, like there weren't blood splashed across his face, and went back to the girl, giving her a prod in the stomach.

If Rhaella squinted her eyes, she could almost pretend nothing had happened to her.

That she was whole.

She wasn't.

But neither was Rhaella, neither was Saira, neither was Henry.

They were all broken in some way. Physically, mentally, what was the difference?

Saira and Rhaella left the room in silence, went back to the kitchen, and left one another to their thoughts. Again, she felt the vial like a weight in her pocket, pushing against her chest, forcing its way into the front of her mind.

This couldn't last.

It wouldn't last.

Soon she'd take her stand.

Maybe Saira didn't really deserve this, but Henry, the monster she was teamed up with, deserved to burn in hell. The least she could do was give him a nudge in the right direction.

_Soon._

Then everything would fall into place.

Everything would be alright again.

* * *

><p><strong>Adley Proctor, 15 years old;<br>District Five Female.**

* * *

><p>Each time Adley opened her eyes, she expected to see Lexine. She expected to see her dreamy smile, or hear her gentle laugh, or even the fear that had started to control her blissful innocence.<p>

Now, all Adley had was her own company. It scared her more than the loss of Lexine. As bad as it was, as sad as she felt, Adley was more frightened about what she'd do now that she had nothing but her own thoughts to herself.

She'd never dealt well with that. Never dealt well with how she'd never thought she was good enough. When she didn't feel like she had it in her to be by herself, she'd find someone else to help. Giving other people a chance of happiness rather than finding it for her own wellbeing.

She splashed water across her face and blinked, looking into the mirror that greeted her eyes. She looked exhausted, blue and black rings under her eyes, tear stains lining her pale cheeks. _I'm losing it. Maybe I already lost it, coming here, being reaped, finding a friend in Lexine…_

_I'm nothing._

_Never have been._

_I never will be._

She threw a fist into the mirror, feeling the glass shatter round her fingers. Pain blossomed as drops of blood splattered against the plastic sink. She jumped back, a tear drifting down from her eye, and fled the house she'd found shelter in.

They all reminded her of Lexine.

Everything, the same identical sanctuary, lining the same identical street in a ring of the same identical neighbourhoods. Lexine was a distraction from the pain. Now she didn't have that.

She only had herself.

And she'd never coped with that.

The pain in her hand was throbbing, her hand now red, blood dripping from her fingers and leaving drops of red to mark where she was half walking, half running. She had no idea where she was going, she didn't really care. Without having a purpose, company to function on, Adley was lost.

She felt trapped.

As she rounded the corner of yet another street, her legs nearly gave way. Right then and there, in a single second of hopelessness, Adley almost gave up, ready to curl into a ball and let the world drift over her head. If she died, she died. If she won, she won. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to win.

_What do I want?_

She had no time to recollect her thoughts. At that moment, she saw the street before her, and without restraining herself, a high-pitched, broken scream escaped from her lips. The dolls were once again torn apart, left in shreds along the streets, a child clasping a mother's hand. A father and daughter side by side, now left in ribbons of plastic.

This time, Adley ran faster. Something was behind her.

Something.

Someone.

It didn't matter. This time, she could feel the presence by her shoulder, it had always been there, haunting Lexine and Adley, for some reason targeting them, and now that one of them had died, it was time to take care of the other.

In a moment of weakness, she looked over her shoulder, and screamed again. It was tall, cloaked in a long, overcoat that slid across the concrete road. A hat masked its hollow, sunken eyes, dark and demonic in a pale face that embodied evil. The claws were the worst part. Long, five on each hand, sharp like blades but thin and delicate.

It looked at her. It chased her.

Adley screamed again, paralyzing fear pumping through her veins. She stumbled round another corner, thrashing around with tears in her eyes. _I don't want to die. I don't. I want to go home. Let me go home._

_I'm scared._

_Please._

_Please._

She felt her chin connect with something. Pain shot up her jaw, swarming her head with agony that wiped clean the sensation in her fingers. She was lying on the ground, something coarse and tight round her ankle.

When she looked, the creature was no longer nearby. It had gone.

But she was in a new state of trouble. Rope was tied round her foot, a long line of it now pulled taut from a wooden peg bolted into the dirt, deep and unmoving. She pulled on it and it didn't come loose.

A new wave of tears came over her. She rested her head, feeling the pain in her jaw, something had come loose, or snapped into a different position. She continued to cry, wrapping her arms round her stomach, letting time fly past her, uncaring, nothing but background noise to how she felt here and now.

A few moments later, the tranquillity of the Arena subsided, giving way to footsteps.

She looked up, ignoring the pain in her chin, and saw a lone figure moving for her. _It's not the Careers. It's not the nightmare creature. _

The boy from Three made himself known, stepping into the light, peering down at her with a frown on his face. Adley tried to force a smile, but the agony in her face prevented her from doing so. Instead, she stopped squirming and tried to appear relaxed, despite how that was the complete opposite to how she'd felt in such a long time. Maybe forever. Maybe in her whole lifetime.

"Hello." He had a very serious, emotionless voice. Adley tried another smile, this time forcing it onto her face despite how much it hurt.

"Hi, I'm-"

"-Adley, District Five. I know." He looked awkward, making eye contact with the road by the side of her head. "I guess I'm… sorry. Sorry for your… loss?" It sounded like a question. Like he was unsure.

Adley took it anyway, nodding her head. "Thank you. Could you- I mean, do you think you could..." she gave her foot a shake, the rope going up and down with the movement, "… you know, free me?"

He paused, making eye contact once again, before letting them wander to the peg and the rope round her foot. "I can't." Lucian shook his head, and with those two words, that one resigned movement, Adley started to cry again.

It was happening.

This was it.

_I don't want to… poor Lexine, she didn't deserve that. I don't deserve it…_

"Please." She croaked out, wiping a tear from under her eye. "I don't want to die. Please. Please."

He took out a knife from his belt, looking at it, then at Adley. For a moment, his hand faltered and fell to his hip, and naïve inkling of hope once again tricked Adley. Then he stepped forward, bending down to level his eyes with her. Now they looked real. Now they looked emotional. Now he seemed actually… sorry.

Like he felt something.

"This is something I have to do." He bowed his head, lowering his voice. "I have… have to…"

The knife was cold when it entered her stomach, but the moment it did and Adley screamed out loud, Lucian fell backwards, pale in the face, actual tears lighting up under his eyelashes. It hadn't gone far at all, but blood was pooling out from her stomach, staining her dress, pulsing out from around the knife wound.

He pulled the blade out, looked at Adley and shook his head.

"Please…" Adley whimpered, shaking. "Please… don't go…"

He was gone seconds later, running round the corner, away from sight.

She was dying, but she wasn't dead.

It hurt.

It hurt so bad.

_Someone. Someone kill me. Please. Please._

She wanted it over.

But it was taking so long.

Too long.

Adley continued to cry, lying pathetic on the ground, tied to a trap, a stab wound draining the life from her, second after second. But not fast enough.

She fell back, tears down her face.

_Kill me._

_Someone kill me._

She wanted it to end.

She needed it to end.

* * *

><p><strong>Chase Whittaker, 18 years old;<br>District Twelve Male.**

* * *

><p>Chase kept an eye on Noelani's back. Her presence lingered a few feet in front, him stepping away. It'd been like this since <em>it <em>had happened. Since he'd…

He looked at his hands. At the machete, clutched between his bloody fingers, and sighed to himself. The worst part was he didn't feel guilty for what he'd done to Casimar, he felt guilty for what he'd done to Noelani. It was messed up. For him to even think that.

He'd murdered an everyday, ordinary guy his age and he felt nothing over snuffing out his life, instead he felt something over a girl that still had the blessing of being able to breathe and function.

_It's because she's my friend._

_He wasn't._

Maybe it was because he was able to actually call someone a friend. He'd known… people. But people didn't mean friends.

People didn't give him the time of day, they didn't see him the way he wanted to be seen, so he didn't see them the way they might have expected.

Noelani… she meant too much to him.

Too much to hurt.

Too much to let this continue.

"We need to talk about it." The resolve that took over his voice shocked him for a second. They'd said nothing to each other. Ever since Noelani had pushed Casimar's dead body off from her own, she'd simply walked, ate, drank and slept.

She'd never been the most talkative girl around, but once when the silence had been welcome, now it haunted Chase. He didn't know what to say. How to act. What to do.

This was where it had to end.

He caught up to her. His hand faltered by his side, but this time he didn't hold back, leaning forwards to place it on her shoulder, turning Noelani around to face him.

Her eyes were as light as they'd always been, but now they had something else to them. Not an emptiness, but something bordering on it. Something hollow.

"We have nothing to say, Chase." She pulled away. For a second, she started to continue on, but he wasn't giving in this time. He wasn't letting someone he cared about get away from him, he wasn't about to let himself fall back so he didn't have to make a stand.

He was in the Hunger Games.

He'd killed someone.

He had to be a different person – there wasn't anything else for him to do. Not if he wanted to live. Not if he wanted Noelani to see him the way she always had.

"Stop." Chase held onto her elbow, preventing her from walking away. "We're talking, now. Here and now. No more of… this…" he gestured to her, the tension in the air, the way she met his eyes, but didn't smile. She only stared, as if she was looking right through him.

"Talk."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, wiped his hand on the side of his leg, and nodded his head.

"You know you're different, now. You know you've changed. And I know it's all my fault. I just wanted to know what you want… what I can do. If you hate me, I get it. I understand." He swallowed again, his tongue drying up. _I'm not going to give in, though. I'm not going to step back, let her do whatever, and act like I don't care._

He'd always cared.

He'd simply never been the best at showing it.

Here, it changed.

"There's nothing you can do. You killed Casimar."

"I killed him because I had to-"

"Yes, yes you had to." Her eyes moved for the machete in his hand. A shiver ran down her spine, but she kept her feet grounded, looking back up at Chase. "You want to know what's wrong?"

He nodded, silent, waiting patiently.

"The problem is the fact I don't hate you. I don't hate you, I don't want to leave you, I don't want to hurt you for what you did."

Chase held onto her arm tighter, not because he wanted to, but because something in her voice scared him. It made him not only frightened for Noelani's decrease in her wellbeing, but upset that he had been the cause of it. What he'd done, in the spur of the moment, had driven a wedge between the two. He couldn't forgive himself for that – he'd spent so much time trying to be a better person for himself, he'd never thought about being a better person for the people around him.

"You killed my friend, someone I really cared about, someone who in a matter of days became someone I felt… something over. And I don't hate you." She laughed, a bitter noise that rang through the Arena, cutting through the air around them. "I don't hate the boy who killed one of my friends. How messed up is that? What does that make me?"

Chase looked down at the ground, his eyes hovering over his machete, then shook his head. He made eye contact with Noelani and smiled, releasing his hand from her elbow and laughing. A happy sort of sound. A resigned sort of sound.

The sort of laugh he'd never shared with anyone, ever.

"It makes you a tribute, Noelani."

"Yeah," she looked down, a silent tear falling from her eye, down the bridge of her nose and to her feet. "I hate it."

"We're not meant to like it."

Something happened the moment Noelani looked at him. A smile lit up her face, once again. It wasn't complete like it had been, it wasn't the same girl he'd met a week ago, but it was enough to show she was coming back.

Chase joined her side, the two of them moving down the street, and felt like the silence between them was starting to work out again. It was returning to the way it always had – where they appreciated each other, without having to tell the other person how much they cared.

They bottled things up, the two of them.

Chase had opened up.

Noelani, sensing that, had done the same.

And now they understood. They cared. They wanted to be by each other's side, despite what had happened. It meant more to Chase than anything.

He had his friend back.

They rounded yet another corner, vigilant as always, preparing for anything and everything. This time, however, something was waiting for them.

Chase and Noelani froze, hearing a moan crawl through the air, a pained, agonizing moan that made Noelani look at Chase, before looking at the figure lying on the ground.

"Noelani-" He reached out a hand to stop her, but she was too quick for him. She ran to the young girl's side, leaning down, brushing her hair from her eyes.

Chase was there in a second, staring into the broken eyes of a dying girl. _Adley from Five. A young girl… this isn't right… this isn't…_

_We're tributes._

_Right has no meaning. Not anymore._

He looked at the blood around her, the open wound in her stomach, and clutched onto Noelani's shoulder. His friend wiped a tear from Adley's cheek, smiling into the poor girl's eyes, whispering something into her ear.

"It'll be alright," she continued to smile, "it'll be alright."

That's when Chase saw the knife, Noelani's hand gripped round the handle, moving it for Adley's chest.

"It'll be alright…"

He didn't stop her.

He couldn't stop her.

The Games had no understanding of right, but this was as close as they'd get to it. If Noelani had to do this, she had to do this.

The cannon drowned out the pained sigh that left Noelani's lips the moment her knife went into Adley's chest. As she froze on the ground, lifeless, he placed a hand on her shoulder and helped her up, wrapping his arms round her and standing there, silent, still, protective over the one girl that meant more to him than anything else.

"I had to, Chase." He could hear her crying. "I had to."

"I know."

It wasn't right.

It wasn't wrong.

None of those had a place here. It was what it was. Noelani, a normal girl, killing Adley, another normal girl.

Innocents in a dark, oppressive world.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't just.

But nothing ever was.

Nothing ever would be.

* * *

><p><strong>Eliasi Vallis, 16 years old;<br>District Eight Female.**

* * *

><p><em>Yesterday.<em>

Eliasi tucked her knees up to her chest, her hair hanging loose around her legs, chin nestled into the gap between. The truth hurt – it hurt more than anything she'd ever felt before. And Eliasi, no matter how hard she tried to close her eyes and think about them, couldn't bring herself to ignore reality in favour of something peaceful.

Eliasi had never, in her whole life, been the sort of girl who let herself believe in things that just weren't real. Ramon was gone. Jasper was gone. Lazaro was gone.

Tymas was… gone.

The knife clutched in her fingers, dyed red with Sherina's blood, hit the far wall and clattered to the ground. She wanted to give up – even though she couldn't and knew she wouldn't. In the end, despite how horrible she felt, how guilty she felt that she hadn't cried yet, this was still a fight she could win.

So many fights had gone the wrong way in her life, yet she'd always come out on top. This was one where she'd actually lost people she cared about… people she was sure she didn't show that care enough of, but it was still the same. She could do it for them, maybe.

Maybe she could win for the people that had lost their own chance.

She stood up, wiping the back of her hand along her nose, sniffling, regardless of the lack of tears. _I'm not crying because I can't, I'm not crying because if I start, I won't stop. And if I don't stop, I'll die. I can't die… I don't want to die._

She reached back down for her knife and wiped the last few specks of red onto her trouser leg, straightening her shoulders. The dark thoughts in her mind, the depression that wracked her body, none of it would go – maybe not ever. But if she couldn't get rid of it, if she wanted more than anything to curl up and drift away, she could use it for a better purpose. Rather than give up, something she'd never done before, she could win the Hunger Games.

After everything, she damn well thought she deserved it.

So did Tymas, so did Lazaro, so did Jasper and Ramon. But with them all dead, it was up to her now. A living memory of people that didn't deserve the fate they'd been dealt with.

She moved for the door. Though it was dark outside, Eliasi didn't want to be stuck in one of the houses. Besides, sleep was impossible right now. She'd slept all of last night and all through the day, nightmares of yesterday's events haunting her subconscious. Even if she tried to, it wouldn't work.

If she felt useful, like she was making progress, the consequences of what had happened to her friends might never catch up with her.

So she kept on her feet, walked out of the house, and into the brisk, night air of yet another day gone by.

A few moments later, she heard the Capitol anthem blare out from the speakers, hidden in the space around them, or up in the shadowed sky. Only one face looked down upon the living – Adley Proctor, District Five. She bowed her head. She hadn't known the girl – hadn't tried to – but it was still sad. Eliasi didn't want to harden herself to the point where she could accept the death of people like her, people that were innocent, because if she started to move on without feeling anything, she knew it was too late for her.

If she felt pain, she was still herself. She still had a chance. Hope still existed.

She walked past house after house, looking into the windows for any sign of life, any sign of danger, but kept a steady pace. Everywhere she went she could feel doll eyes on her, silent, foreboding statues with painted smiles and flowery outfits. She hated how innocent they looked, when they were not.

But she stayed away from them. Yesterday they'd angered the Gamemakers by trying to outsmart their future ploy, she wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Instead, she weaved round them, and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that sent a breeze up the back of her neck.

_Someone's following me._

She wasn't sure if it was just the presence of the dolls that unnerved her, or something else. The Careers were still out there. Other alliances who were just as able at hurting her were lurking somewhere amongst these neighbourhoods.

Or it could be worse. It could be…

She paused, stunned to silence, staring out to the junction in the road. Standing, with an ever so slight tilt of the head, a clown gazed at her with a smile curled right up into its cheeks. Red and white makeup smothered its face, a shade to match the balloon clutched in its hand.

Eliasi let a fearful breath out, stepping back, watching a hand move from behind its back, clutched round a knife to rival any she'd seen so far.

"Nice clown… good clown…" She wasn't sure what to do. She hoped it wouldn't move, but so far, hope had done nothing for her.

She'd hoped she wouldn't lose the people she'd cared for.

She'd hoped she wouldn't become a killer.

Now, she hoped some demonic clown wouldn't come after her, so naturally, the moment she turned her head to look over her shoulder, it left the side of the house and ran for in her direction.

It was eerily silent, save for its cool footsteps against the ground. One hand kept itself round the balloon string, the other round the knife, its face trained on Eliasi's terrified eyes.

_I can't outrun it._

_It won't give up until it's killed me._

She knew, on the spot, what she had to do. Not that she liked it, not that she wanted to do it, but it was necessary.

The moment it lunged for her, swiping the air where her head had been moments ago, Eliasi barrelled into it and knocked it the ground. The balloon drifted into the air, a red ball of innocence slowly disappearing into the shadows of the sky. Eliasi punched the clown's nose, blood flowing down her fingers. It tried to squirm away from her, but she punched again.

She saw Jasper flash in front of her eyes, then Ramon, then Lazaro, then Tymas.

Then she saw the Careers.

Then the Gamemakers.

The President.

Sherina. Holly. Therese.

She kept punching, punching, _punching. _

_Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Stop it. Stop. STOP IT._

When she looked back down, her rapid breathing coming to a standstill, the clown's face had been completely caved in. The red of its nose still shone amongst the crimson shade of its blood, indented into shards of skull that poked from the mess she'd made.

It was only a mutt, though.

She had to remember that.

Eliasi stood up, wiped her hands on the sides of her legs, and took a deep breath. _I'm fine. I'm okay. I can still do this._

She swapped her smaller knife for the clown's larger one, clipping it to her belt and walking forwards. Eliasi was determined to keep moving – despite this set back. Regardless of the anger, the sadness, the despair, the complete and utter hopelessness that ravaged her body, there was still that tiny spark of a chance that kept her motivated.

If she had that, she had something.

It was enough.

It had to be.

If it wasn't, she'd die, and she wasn't ready to die.

_I've seen death. I've inflicted death upon another._

She had to win.

For Jasper. For Ramon. For Lazaro.

For Tymas.

For herself.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Adley Proctor, District Five Female.<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Olive, Adley was the sort of tribute that felt real. And for me that's important for a tribute, if I can relate with them on some level, I can get into their heads easily, and they tend to then go further because I find it really interesting to develop them in some way and write about how they react to the CapitolGames. With Lexine's death, I wasn't entirely sure where else I could take her however, so it became her time to go. Thanks for submitting her.**

* * *

><p><strong>Congrats to the final ten and their submitters: Saira, Henry, Lucian, Rhaella, Holly, Eliasi, Noelani, Clarette, Therese and Chase.<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Anyone you didn't expect to make it this far?<strong>_

_**At this point, predicted Victor?**_

* * *

><p><strong>The mutt that has been sort of terrorizing Lexine and Adley is from one of my favourite horror films (and favourite films overall), it only came out last year but I really recommend it. It's called The Babadook. If you get the chance, check it out!<strong>

**Anyway announcement time. Whilst writing Beyond the Veil, I published this story sort of around the final ten point, so I've decided to publish my next story **_**Lonely Hour. **_**It's on my profile, submissions are open a bit longer just so I can get this story as close to the end as possible (although if you're interested, we past the halfway point of the Games with the last chapter). So yeah, please go over there, check it out, submit if you can. You have the time, but I'd advise submitting as early as you can, nothing is for certain until the deadline, but as tributes come in I get a rough idea of who I'd like to accept, so the sooner the better.**

**Yeah, so. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Submit to my next SYOT if you can :D**


	25. Bad Blood

**Chapter Twenty-Five.**

* * *

><p><strong>Day Six.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Saira Carinne, 18 years old;<br>District One Female.**

* * *

><p>"Why won't he just kill her?!"<p>

Saira looked up at Rhaella, not just her voice sounding agitated, but her face a mixture of annoyance and sympathy. Annoyance over Henry. Sympathy over the poor girl getting mutilated barely ten feet from where they were sat.

_This is the price I have to pay, for siding with someone like him, over someone like Vance. _She threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling out the lumps and knots, clamped together with sweat and grime. She was trying so hard to keep it together, but with every scream, every sound of sharp metal on metal, Saira and Rhaella could feel they were losing their grip on their own sanity.

If they didn't do something soon, or if he didn't end it, they were scared something might happen.

Saira was scared.

She'd made it this far with her head – fighting back guilt, doing things for her own survival, despite the cost. And now, now it had reached this point, she wasn't sure how much further she could go pretending that she could cope. Or at least, believing she could.

"You're quiet," Rhaella said, moving to sit next to Saira. "I get it, your pet isn't quite obeying you any longer, is he?"

"He's not my pet," Saira snapped, standing up, glaring down at Rhaella before moving to face the garden. Her head fell against the window, her eyes cast on the blur between the glass and the grass. She had to keep it together – she had to remain focused for just a little bit longer. After all, she was a volunteer. She'd prepared herself for so many years, doing everything she could for this moment.

_But I didn't think this would happen. I came in here ready to kill, not ready to sit back and let an innocent girl get torn apart bit by bit._

She turned to face Rhaella, smiling at her, a sad, sorrowful smile.

"I think we need to do something."

"You can take this one," Rhaella leaned back in her chair, raising her hands with a frown. "If I piss him off, I'm dead. If you piss him off, maybe you'll get to live another day to piss him off again."

"I know it's not his fault – not really. There's something wrong with him and I don't think he even realises it. I don't think he sees things the way we do."

"Then let him do it. Let him strip her piece by piece until she dies. But how long Saira, how long do we have to put up with this? We're not good people, as you've said before," Rhaella stood up and flinched when Clarette wailed loudly, Henry laughing once, before everything fell to silence again. "But we're not bad people either. And in there is a very bad person hurting a girl that doesn't deserve this."

"We deserve it, we put ourselves here."

Rhaella nodded. "We did. You're a smart girl, think it through, weigh up your options. You killed Vance for Henry, make your mind up now like you did then."

"You're only going to kill us soon anyway."

Rhaella's face fell still, before she sat back down, turning away from Saira. She didn't regret telling her she knew – Saira wasn't the fairest, most moral person around, but she didn't want Rhaella letting the hatred inside her turn her into something else.

Now that she knew, at least she could vent, at least she didn't have to bottle it up.

"Do something Saira, or don't. I'm not getting involved."

At that point, Clarette screamed again, a high pitched terrible wail that caught on Saira's eardrums, shattering through her skull and down to her heart. Everything inside her conflicted with itself. _Do I help, do I do something a Career shouldn't do, but a good person would?_

It took another scream, just one more, for Saira to make up her mind.

When she entered the room again, she caught sight of Clarette, dangling from the ceiling like a strung up animal. If it weren't for the cuts across her outfit, showing bloody skin, she looked alright. Better than they'd expected from Henry.

But it was still there.

It always would be – the damage he'd caused her.

"Saira!" Henry walked over to her, smiling his cheerful smile. "Did you need something? I'm a bit busy."

"Yeah," Saira swallowed something in her throat, "I just- just wanted to see how you were."

"I'm fine. I don't think she is though." He threw a finger over his shoulder, flippantly casting off another human being as something insignificant. It angered Saira, for a moment, and in a split second of insanity, she almost shouted back at him.

But she couldn't.

At the end of the day, Saira was just as selfish as everyone else. She wanted to live.

But she wasn't so selfish as to not help this poor girl.

She couldn't have that on her conscience – some things were just too painful.

"We were just worried about you, we… we er- we haven't seen you a lot recently."

"I'm fine," he clapped her on the shoulder with a laugh, "honestly!"

She was losing it, sweat crept up on her brow, fear clogged her throat. She couldn't do it. There wasn't any way of doing it without going through him.

It made her feel terrible when she took a step back, gazing into her eyes. _I'm sorry. I'm sor-_

Footsteps.

Henry's head rose, his ears perking up like a dog, moving for the window. He pulled back the curtain and turned to face Saira with a smile on his face.

"Another tribute."

He pushed Clarette, letting her sway back and forward, and headed for the door. With a knife in his hand, the same one dyed with Clarette's blood, he paused to look at Saira.

"I'll be back in a minute. Have some fun if you want."

With that, he was gone.

_He's gone._

_He's actually gone…_

She didn't waste a single second. Clarette flinched, but luckily didn't make a sound when she cut the ropes and let her down. She flopped forwards into Saira's outstretched arms, and slowly, without fighting back, Saira got her onto the floor and then helped her stand up on shaky legs.

They buckled once and she fell over, but the second time she managed to keep her balance, looking up at Saira with pain in her eyes and a snarl on her lips.

"W…Why?"

"Just because." Saira handed her the backpack she'd had, the spear they'd found her with, and followed behind her to the door.

"I could kill you."

"No," Saira laughed, helping her towards the back and past a smiling Rhaella, "you couldn't. Try and you're dead."

"I should say thanks."

"But you won't. I get it. We're all the same to you – Henry, Rhaella, me, doesn't matter. Just go, don't look back, and fight a little bit longer. Everyone deserves to go out knowing they had a chance to fight back. Henry wouldn't have let you done that."

She stumbled out of the door, over a picket fence, and out of sight.

It was the first time since coming into the Arena, Saira felt like her mind had cleared itself of a mist that covered parts of herself she'd never wanted to lose. Rhaella nodded at her when she walked past, standing behind her when the door opened.

Saira stood, staring at Henry as he walked back down the hallway.

"Lost the bastard," he frowned at Saira, then up at Rhaella, and turned into the room.

"Whatever happens, I don't know why, but I've got your back. This time, and only this time." Rhaella whispered.

Henry's shout chilled Saira to the bone. But she stood her ground, letting him storm towards her, eyes blown open, red in his cheeks, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

All he could get out was one word – one word laced with untold fury. "Why?"

"You know why, Henry. Or at least, I hope you do."

"Saira…" He looked down at his knife, and for a moment, Saira was ready. It had to come. It had to happen one day. But he lowered his hand and shook his head, turning away from her, his eyes on the ground.

"I don't hate you… I don't want to hate you…"

"I don't hate you either."

He turned back around, rising higher on the heels of his feet, a tear in the corner of his eye. "You're my friend. But… but…"

"It's alright, Henry. I understand."

"Good," he moved for the kitchen, shoving past the two of them, "I care about you Saira. Don't make me kill you."

The two girls exchanged a look in the doorway.

It would happen soon.

It was too risky now.

Maybe it always had been.

He didn't know right from wrong – but that didn't matter, not in the Hunger Games. Saira wanted to win, and for that to happen, it always meant he'd have to die.

"Soon," Rhaella whispered.

She nodded, turning back to join Henry. "Soon."

* * *

><p><strong>Lucian St. Laurent, 17 years old;<br>District Three Male.**

* * *

><p>He sprinkled some leaves over the loop in the grass, under the shadow of the central tree, and walked over to the traps a few feet in front. The other bits of rope were tied round the trunk. <em>Ready.<em>

Something about the traps didn't excite him any longer. He'd made these over the past few days, since the beginning really, feeling almost overconfident with himself. Terrible though he knew it should have been, but it gave him a sense of power, a sense of importance he'd hungered for, knowing he had this secret control no one knew about.

At least, it had felt like that until yesterday.

_I killed a girl. _It was why he hadn't been able to stab her clean through, or at least end it for her. At least stay with her in her last moments. He couldn't even look her in the eye as she called for him to stay, and something like guilt refused to leave him, even though he was sure coming here it wasn't the sort of reaction he'd expected would ever trouble him.

He knew what it was and knew how hard it now made everything. How, when he walked past the traps and down the street, to where it was all about to begin, he felt scared more than anything. It was something he had to do, but no longer was it something that made him feel like the Capitol cared about him.

If they did, he wasn't sure that even mattered any longer.

All that mattered in the end, was what he did, what he thought of himself, not what anyone else expected or saw in him. And what he saw now, was guilt over killing a girl, but not even having the courage to stick with her through the pain.

There wasn't many other tributes to get through, at least. Then he could let it all out. Then he could deal with it.

_Then I can move on._

This was it, though. He'd planned, calculated, scoped out. The Careers had run their course – it was their time to go. Time for Lucian to do something not many people ever had the courage to do. It was probably stupid of him, but up until this point, everything he'd done had led to him doing something like this. Something to bring the Games closer to their end.

If he could take out all three Careers, it wouldn't be hard to eliminate the rest.

One more real obstacle, and the rest would fall, one by one.

_You can do this, _he thought to himself, reaching the house they were stationed in, _you can do this. _

He'd ran past earlier to make sure he knew exactly where they were and how fast the little creep could run. Now it was time. Now he readied himself, stood opposite the house, hidden behind the fence, with a rock in his hand. It soared through the air in an arc, sealing his fate, completing phase one, and hit the door with a loud thump.

The seconds he had to wait felt like hours, stretching on… and on… and on.

Until, he let out a painful breath, watching the door creak open and the girl from One peer her head out. She looked down at the rock, tilted her head, and swallowing down all his fear, Lucian burst up from behind the fence and back the way he'd come.

For a second, he didn't think she was going to follow. But then, for the first time since coming here, he was grateful to hear Henry's voice above them all, shouting for Saira to follow.

"Rhaella, wait here. Me and Henry will be back in a minute!" The girl from One yelled.

With that, it sealed the deal completely. He frowned but refused to let it beat him down. He was pretty sure Saira and Henry were the strongest Careers anyway – Rhaella could be dealt with later. First it was these two, then he could plan his next move.

His heart thumped against his chest, blood in his ears, the wind lashing against his cheeks. He continued to run though, bursting forwards into a lengthy sprint back round the corner and towards the tree.

He could hear heavy breathing behind him, the presence of two killers, and used that as motivation to move even faster.

"Slow down!" He heard Henry shout, and with a bitter laugh, he rolled his eyes.

_Yeah, because I'll do just that._

He sidestepped round the tree, and moved past the first trap. Henry missed the first one, but the second he turned, closed his eyes, begging for some relief at last, he heard a thump and a loud '_Fuck!'_

Henry was on the ground, his leg restrained, the rope pulled from the trunk of the tree. Saira was upside down, swaying there, surprisingly calm as she stared at him, then her eyes moved for Henry on the ground.

_It worked._

_It actually… worked._

_Halle-fucking-lujah._

Maybe the Lucian before yesterday would have felt confident – and yes, he admitted it now, arrogant – that this plan was fool proof. But after the girl from yesterday, he'd been so sure it wouldn't, so sure karma would catch up to him like the bitch it was and take him out.

But it had worked.

He had two Careers, in front of him, flailing about, trying to free themselves… at his mercy.

"So," Lucian stepped forwards, almost giddy with excitement… giddy with fear, with disbelief. He looked down at Henry, jumping back when the boy swiped at his foot with his hand. Henry kicked the knife away and repressed a laugh.

He tried not to take satisfaction from seeing such a monster at his mercy, and maybe Saira was different, but this was something the world had been waiting to see. Henry deserved this.

He deserved to die, humiliated. This was the only way someone like him would have been taken out.

Through trickery.

A straight up fight, Lucian would have died. But by using his mind, something Henry sorely lacked, he'd been outsmarted. And now he'd pay the price.

"Let me the fuck out of here!"

"Now, now," Lucian stepped on his hand, feeling his knuckles crunch under his heel, "language."

"Don't you fucking lecture me you sonofabitch. Let. Me. Go!"

Lucian opened his mouth, but someone else got to it first. "Henry will you please, for once in your life, shut up."

Both of them turned their heads, shocked to see Saira, upside down, glaring at the boy on the ground. She looked pissed at him, more than Lucian. Pissed at a boy trapped with her, not the boy who did the trapping.

At least it shut him up.

A second of peace was all he needed.

Lucian pulled out his knife and looked down at the boy at his feet. It was almost pathetic – it almost reminded him of Adley. His throat tightened at that, and for a moment, he hesitated. But that was Adley, an innocent girl. This wasn't.

"Aren't you Careers supposed to be invincible? Shouldn't this be child's play to you? Go on, free yourself."

"What the fuck do I look like to you?" Henry spat, bristling with anger. "Some fucking superhero? I'm from District Two."

"Don't you guys eat babies for breakfast or something?" Lucian joked, laughing bitterly.

"Yeah we do." Henry shook his foot, trying to free it. "I enjoy it with a cup of District Three blood. Now fucking let me free."

"Ask nicely."

Henry's entire body was practically flailing by now. Up and down, left to right. "Please can you let us go." His voice took on a calmness, before rising to a shout, then a scream, then something Lucian had never heard before. "LET US GO. LET ME GO. LET SAIRA GO YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKER."

"Sick?" Lucian moved for Saira, bringing his knife up. "You, Henry, someone like you, can call me sick? You know what's sick. Me going for her first, when there's someone like you lying in front of me."

"Don't touch her." He spat, twisting his head to look over his shoulder. Lucian moved for Saira, who only swayed there, with her eyes closed. If she was ready to accept death – well then, so be it. Lucian respected her for that.

This was the sort of Career he expected would have made it far.

The sort of Career that were Victors.

"Don't. Touch. Her."

Lucian looked back down at Henry, stopping himself from stabbing Saira. "Ask nicely."

"Please," he practically cried it this time, his voice breaking. "Don't kill her. Just go… leave us alone…"

Lucian returned to Henry, bending down to waist level. "I can't do that. You know I can't."

"Goodbye Henry." Saira's voice drifted through the air the moment Lucian's knife went through his side. This time, Lucian followed through with it. This time, he wasn't scared.

Henry shuddered once, and that was it, the monster of these Games was gone. Lucian pulled the knife out the moment the cannon sounded, shattering the silence in the air. At that moment, he heard a snap, a thud on the ground, and saw Saira with the rope round her feet, standing eye to eye to him.

_Shit. Oh motherfucking shit… no. Not after this._

He looked once at Henry.

Then up at Saira.

"You killed him."

"Someone had to."

Saira stared at her former ally's body, then up at Lucian. She closed her eyes once, a tear falling down her cheek, and nodded her head. "Go. Please. Go…"

He didn't thank her.

He said nothing, turning around and sprinting away, straight into another neighbourhood and out of sight.

_I killed a Career._

_And a Career let me go._

Lucian didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He couldn't choose.

So instead, he did both.

* * *

><p><strong>Holly Branwell, 17 years old;<br>District Six Female.**

* * *

><p>Holly looked at Therese.<p>

Therese looked at Holly.

They were sat, face to face, back in the same garden the night before. The night before _it _happened.

Holly didn't regret anything – if she started to regret something like that, there would be no way she'd prepare herself for the last part of this journey. No. She'd pushed Sherina into Eliasi because she had to. Because Sherina would have killed her eventually, because Sherina had used up what Holly had seen in her.

If her only way of winning was to step over other people, use them to ensure she made it another day, then so be it. The Careers did have their training after all, their way of winning. She didn't have that. So she had always promised herself, since the moment she'd been reaped, to use whatever she had inside herself to ensure she had just an equal chance.

Therese seemed to be coping well, with the loss of Sherina, at least. Whether she was handling what she'd done to Tymas or not, that was another question. Holly felt sad over killing Lazaro, but again, he had just been another obstacle.

So she saw his face, felt a faint glimmer of guilt somewhere in the back of her mind, and quashed his image there and then. If she dwelt on the past, there would be no future.

That was something she was determined not to let happen.

She had a future.

She had to have a future.

_Otherwise what's the point?_

"Did you want to take first watch?" Holly asked, as brightly as she could, smiling at Therese. Her ally shook her head, bringing up their last bottle of water to her lips, swallowing almost half in one gulp.

Holly stared at her, biting her lip. _What's her problem? If she saw… surely she'd have said something. Done something. _No, she couldn't be paranoid about Therese just yet, she was still useful.

Besides, it was good for Holly to have someone near her. Being alone, that was a part of life she'd never grown up with. She'd always had someone, no matter the circumstances.

"I don't think you should drink all our water. What if we don't find a tap that works?"

"What's the point?" Therese shrugged her shoulders, tucking the bottle back into her backpack, throwing it without care to her side. "Really, answer me that, what's the point?"

"If this is about Sherina-"

"Of course it's about Sherina!" Therese's whole demeanour changed. Her eyes narrowed, her lip curled upwards, but the worst part was the tears. Holly had dealt with crying people before, all the time. She knew what to do – but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable. Holly simply reflected her sorrow over their ally, contributing the emotions Therese needed to see, the emotions that might settle her down for the time being.

Holly moved over to sit with her, cradling her head into her shoulder, crying with her. "I know Therese. I'm so sorry for what happened. Sherina was a good… friend. A good person. She didn't deserve that."

"No. No she didn't."

Holly let the tears slip down her nose. Maybe they were real. Maybe part of them felt honest. Sherina hadn't been a friend, but she wasn't a bad person. She couldn't pretend she'd not grown to at least respect the girl. She felt something, sadness, maybe.

Not to the level Therese must have felt, but something. Something that made Holly nervous.

"If we fight for her, then she wouldn't have died in vain." Holly smiled down at Therese, as the girl pulled away to glance up at her. "If… when, when one of us wins, she'll be remembered, always."

"Always."

Therese moved her shoulder when Holly went to place a comforting hand on it. For a moment, she felt offended, she felt almost angry, but reminded herself that Therese was struggling more than she was. If they were going to have their alliance last, if Therese was still going to be useful, she had to vent her emotions like she had for Arial.

Eventually, she'd gotten over that.

She'd get over this too.

She had to. _Otherwise… otherwise she's useless. Otherwise she'll have to die._

"I'll stay up and keep watch if you like?" Holly offered her another smile, trying to ease the atmosphere that hung thick between the two of them. "I'll keep watch all night. I don't mind. You deserve your sleep."

"Thanks."

Holly strained herself to keep the smile on her face. "Don't mention it. Friends do things for friends. They have their backs."

Therese opened her mouth to say something, but the moment she did, the Capitol anthem drowned out whatever words came out. Holly craned her neck to look up into the sky. Henry Eris, the District Two male, shone down from above, with his cheery face, positive smile, and ruffled blonde hair.

He looked normal, from down here.

But Holly knew, as did Therese, as did everyone, that he didn't have a shred of normal inside of him.

Holly did what she had to do to survive. She knew Henry, someone like him, did things with survival as the least of his worries. He did it for fun.

"I guess that's a good thing, right?"

"Right."

"Another Career down," Holly nodded to herself and leant back against the wall, crossing her arms round her stomach.

Therese muttered something, but Holly couldn't quite catch it. When she let her head fall down, the backpack being used as a pillow, Holly saw her eyes locked with her own, wide open. She scooted to the left, awkwardly, smiling at her, then looking up, only to feel Therese's eyes follow her movements.

"Therese, it's fine. Go to sleep, honestly."

"Yeah," Therese kept staring, "because we're friends? Because friends do things for friends, yeah? Because they have their backs?"

"Precisely."

She laughed, sitting up, her hair draped in front of one eye, her other eye glaring into Holly's. It looked different. She seemed different.

_Oh… fuck…_

"Sherina was our friend. You say you had her back? Bull. Shit."

"Therese…"

She lunged at Holly, bringing her fist to her nose. Immediate pain flashed up her face, the metallic tang of blood flooding past her lips and flowing to the back of her throat.

"She was our friend. She was our friend and you… you killed her to save yourself."

Holly didn't – she couldn't – say anything. Therese kept throwing punches at her. Most were too weak with the sobs that shook her body, but some landed on her face, some sent pain rocketing through her body.

_No._

_I'm not letting another one try._

_I'm not dying._

_Not after everything._

Holly lashed upwards, her nails tearing across Therese's face. Her ally yelped, skin coming apart, blood welling up and dripping down her face. She cradled her cheek and fell back, staring at Holly with a mixture of pain and contempt.

"I did what I had to do. I saved myself over someone else. That's what being a fucking tribute means, Therese. We don't live with our heads in the clouds down here, we do what has to be done!"

_Sherina understood that, so she died for it._

_And now Therese… _Holly looked at her. Again, she'd grown fond of her, grown fond of her in a way that was stronger than her connection with Sherina. It would hurt to kill her.

But if she had to, she wouldn't hold back.

She couldn't hold back.

"Sherina was helping you by fighting them. And you… you pushed her. You pushed her and it killed her, and you sit there saying you did what you had to do to save yourself?" Therese laughed again, her eyes almost feral, lips parted into a snarl. "You've always been a bitch. Sherina saw it and she died for it. And I'm so sorry…" Therese sobbed out loud.

Her eyes moved for the sky, as if she was looking for Sherina, talking to her lost friend. "I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you. I didn't see it." Then her eyes fell on Holly. "But I see it now."

"Go then. Leave, do what you want. The truth's out. I'm a bitch. Woop-de-fucking-doo. But I don't plan on dying, I never have. I'll do anything to live, anything. If I have to kill you, then I will."

"I know." Therese moved for the other end of the garden. "And when it comes to it, I'll kill you before you get the chance."

"What are you doing?"

Therese watched Holly from the opposite side, arms crossed, back to the fence. "I'm staying. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. Someone needs to stop you before you hurt anyone else. We're not friends. We're not allies. But I'm staying."

"Then I guess no one's getting any sleep, huh?" Holly smiled, angrily, moving her back against the brick wall of the house and staring at Therese from across the grass.

"Goodnight Holly."

_Fuck her._

_Fuck everyone._

_No one gets it. What a tribute has to do. It might be called the Hunger Games, but this isn't a game. She can make friends if she wants, she can pretend, she can lie to herself. But I won't._

"Goodnight Therese."

Tomorrow would be difficult.

But just like every other day, Holly was prepared.

Ready to do what had to be done.

If Therese had to die tomorrow, then so be it.

_I'll do it, without hesitating._

Because she had to.

It was either that, or die. And she wasn't about to die. Not now, not ever.

Not for a long time.

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><p><em><strong>Henry Eris, District Two Male.<strong>_

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><p><strong>Hoprocker, Henry was brilliant. Every story needs a character like him, maybe not to the extent he was, but the antagonist that splits the readers, splits the other tributes, and generally makes everything that much more interesting. He severed the Careers at the very beginning, had a great, complex relationship with Saira, and went a bit far with Clarette, all whilst still being a good blend of childlike, cheerful and insane. I loved writing him. Thanks a bunch!<strong>

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><p><strong>Just a reminder, if you haven't already submitted and are interested, my new SYOT is on my profile with all the information :)<strong>

**The chapters have now gone down to 3 POVs. I thought that would make it shorter, but hey for some reason the POVs in here reached over 1,500 each. Two of them over 1,600. I guess I had a lot to say. Ah well, hope you enjoyed it!**


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